


our love is bitter but I really like the taste

by sailingtheLarryship



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Dancer Louis, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Smut, Top Harry, Top Louis, a bit of internalized homophobia, and some original characters vital to the plot, because i like the parallel, but i tried, football! Harry, i know almost nothing about either, i'm not really sure what else to tag this, mentions of homphobia, the other boys are there if you squint, there's a bit of mention of body like discomfort?, there's also barely any football or actually ballet, this really involves mostly harry and louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingtheLarryship/pseuds/sailingtheLarryship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know,” Louis says it like he does, “and maybe it doesn’t work out, but what if it does?”<br/>“What if it does?” Harry echoes.<br/>“Then we could get to be together, fine, and we won’t have to miss out on something we both want.”<br/>Harry considers this for a moment, “but that’s like—you’re talking really long term.”<br/>Louis smiles and his face lights up in a way Harry really, really missed, “I know.”<br/>They look at each other, and Harry’s breath feels lost. He’s lost in all the blue that is Louis’ eyes. An ocean. “Fuck,” he breathes, and this time he doesn’t apologize, but instead he puts his lips on Louis’ and throughout all the water filling him, he still feels like he can breathe when he does that.</p>
<p>or au where Louis is their University's star dancer and also Harry's RA. And Harry is the University's new golden boy who actually has more trouble fitting in than not. After Harry seeks out Louis for advice once, he just can't seem to stop. The rest is pretty much history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our love is bitter but I really like the taste

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiwikero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwikero/gifts).



> DISCLAIMER: I actually don't know much about football, or the NFL, or even ballet. I mainly gave them those roles because the parallel was cool and it fit into the characterization I was going for. Luckily, there's not really much of either so you guys don't have to endure my ignorance :-). Also, huge thanks to [Mels](http://bourgeoix.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this for me. Without her, this story would have a lot of grammatical errors; and for the ones that still remain, that is all me.
> 
> The title is from a line from a song Harry wrote for Kodaline(?) i believe? Hope you enjoy!

                Louis loves ballet. He loves the way the strain in his tendons feel every time he rises on the tips of his toes, every time he leaps, turns, pirouettes. He reinvents himself with every technique he perfects, every choreography he learns down to the tee. It’s as if he becomes bolder, more open, more the Louis Tomlinson he loves and hopes to be one day. When Louis was six his step-dad –who was more his dad than the guy who decided to lone some sperm to his mother—decided to sign him up for football lessons at the park nearby. In a house filled with crying, whining, screaming girls, Mark thought it would be best if Louis surrounded himself with guys his own age, engaged in activities with boys and bonded through that with Mark. It’s not that Louis hadn’t liked football—he had, and he knew he was good despite the coach telling him and the other team members side eyeing him every time he scored a goal and the crowds chanted his name—“Tommo! Tommo! Tommo!” Which is why Louis stayed playing football up until he was ten. Football was fun, and great, but it wasn’t _Louis_.

He didn’t know about ballet until he was eleven, and he only came to think he wanted to join classes when he dropped off his secondary school girlfriend at the time to one of her lessons. As soon as he saw one of the girls in her class spinning on the tips of her toes, chest up and tight, hands stiff, shoulders lifted, grace spewing all around her as her face etched concentration, it was as if something inside him switched on. He’d asked to stay, and his girlfriend hadn’t minded because she thought he just wanted to spend more time with her, watch her dance and gloat and grovel over her. Some of it was true, he did want to see her dance. But not just her, all of them.

                He told his mom a week later that he wanted to do ballet. He’d talked to his girlfriend enough, asking her questions disguised as interest in his girlfriends hobbies, to know that he was terribly behind. Most dancers started when they were about the age Louis started football, and even then, some quit by the time they hit Louis’ current age. Ballet was tough work and a lot of it had to do with disciplining your body and even biology. His girlfriend claimed that some girls just didn’t have the right bodies for ballet, but were too young to realize it when they signed up that they had to wait until they started to develop to see where it would go. For some, it didn’t seem bright. Louis silently thanked that he didn’t really have that problem. He wasn’t a girl. But even then, besides all odds really being against him, Louis wanted to try because he knew, just somehow, that’s where the real Louis was laying. Maybe not in ballet specifically, but somewhere like that. And ballet seemed like a good enough place to start. 

                His mom seemed a bit – caught off guard when Louis brought it up one afternoon after school. After a moment’s silence Louis had said, and not to be rude or disobedient but to be sure, to make it known he was sure of who he was trying to discover, “if you’re not willing, I’ll find a job to pay for lessons. I really want this, mum.” Somehow, those words made Jay understand even what Louis couldn’t.

 

\--

 

                The first time Louis and Harry meet is not the first time they’ve heard of one another. For Harry, he comes to learn of Louis the second week of Fall term. He gets invited to a party hosted by one of the football players’ on his teams girlfriend by Niall—his bio lab partner who kind of gets Harry because he’s also foreign. Ireland to be more exact. And an Irish man he is. According to Niall, all the boys from the football team go at the start of every term when she throws it. When Harry asks who the guy is and Niall answers “Josh” Harry’s not surprised he didn’t get an invite from the people throwing the party. He contemplated shooting Niall down instantly, but Niall insists, and Niall’s pretty persuasive and Harry thinks maybe he could do with a friend.

                So he goes and it’s exactly what he thought a college party in America would be like. There’s beer everywhere, and loud music, and nobody really dances. Instead they just hang back in corners, play obnoxiously loud games like flip cup and beer pong, and make-out a lot. It’s whatever. Until Louis walks in the room, and the atmosphere kind of just shifts when he does. It’s cliché as hell, but it feels like Louis’ presence sucks everyone’s attention in, eyes focused on him. The first thing Harry thinks when he seems him is that he’s beautiful. The second is that his hair looks soft enough to run his fingers through. And the third is that he’s wearing tights, and no one—not even the judgmental pricks he has for teammates—seems to bash an eyelash.

                Harry thinks for a moments that they might be properly introduced, because he sees Niall wave over and Louis wave back, but then Louis is being dragged off and away by one of the girl’s he came in with. And there goes Harry’s chance at charming the pants off him—though, Harry knows it couldn’t go further than a bit of light flirting that could completely be passed a jokingly. But he still stays with that nagging interest at the back of his head. He at least wants to know his name. So he tips his cup back and drinks what’s left of his stale beer and asks, over the loud and pounding music, “who was that?”

                Niall whistles instantly, and for a second Harry’s surprised to find that it can’t be at anything other than what Harry’s just asked him. He sees Niall turn, clasp a hand on Harry’s shoulder and look him straight in the eye. His eyes are a bit glassy, because Niall drinks at an alarming speed, and Harry smiles at him even though he’s a bit confused and his eyebrows are pinched.

                “That,” Niall taps his shoulder lightly, “is Louis Tomlinson. You’re new here so I excuse you for not knowing him, but really H, do you live under a rock?”

                Harry’s confusion only grows wider but his interests peaks at a level of disconcertment, “no?”

                Niall taps his shoulder again, and Harry wonders how many times he’s going to do that before it actually starts to hurt,

“okay,” he burps and Harry makes a face, but Niall’s talking before Harry can lecture him about manners, “that’s like—you know how you’re our star quarterback now?”

Harry’s eyes fling over to where Josh and the rest of the guys are standing, not paying attention, and Harry shrugs so Niall takes it as his cue to continue. “Shut up, you totally are. _Anyways_. Louis’ like that but for our dance program. He’s stupidly talented. Like I fucking hate ballet and interpretive dance and all that but Louis puts on a show and it’s like, when it’s over, I wish it wasn’t. He’s just bloody fucking good, yeah?”

                Harry nods, because that kind of explains the tight he guesses. Still, he feels like there’s something else Niall hasn’t said yet. Is waiting for it for some reason.

                “I don’t know—everyone loves him so, so much. All the girls and even all the guys. Homophobia’s a huge thing here for whatever stupid fucking reason,” Harry visibly swallows, looking around for a second making sure no one can see his obvious tension.  Luckily, everyone really is stuck in their own world, “but everyone respects Louis. He’s just a big shot on campus. And like—I’m kind of drunk so don’t’ fucking hold this over my head in the morning,” he wacks Harry’s head and Harry barely has time to duck and looks wide eyed at Niall like he can’t believe he just did that because Harry _hasn’t even said anything,_ but Niall goes on, “he can turn any guy gay with that fucking bum of his. He has the best body like waist down, from any girl in this entire college fucking ever. But he’s got a dick, so. But whatever. Yeah, that’s Louis Tomlinson,” pause, “more beer?”

                And that’s kind of that, then. Harry doesn’t ask any more questions, because he doesn’t want to be too obvious, even if he doesn’t think Niall will judge him for that kind of stuck. It’s how word gets out, it’s how things go wrong for him. One look at Josh reminds him he doesn’t need any more problems than he’s already got going on.

He doesn’t see Louis for the rest of the night, and he tries not to reason with why he’s disappointed by that. After the party, Harry actually doesn’t see Louis anywhere at all. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but Harry knows he sometimes studies people carefully in the halls in hopes that maybe he’ll see Louis again, see him up close and maybe realize just how bad of an idea anything he’s cooking up in his head is. Not that he has any ideas. Harry’s a bit rational even if he is a bit of a masochist. 

                So it’s a bit surprising when Harry goes to knock on his RA’s dorm room—feeling completely overwhelmed with his third week of college and not having met them before for orientation, more than ready to introduce himself—that the person who opens the door is no one other than Louis Tomlinson. Harry feels his breath catch in his throat, and he blinks, a bit too slowly and a bit too much because he almost can’t believe his luck. There at the door is Louis, and he’s wearing a hoodie this time, along with yoga pants, and his hair is as soft as Harry remembers in his head, but his eyes are bluer than Harry had realized the first time. It’s a very good thing. Harry decides quickly that Louis is just one of those people that are beautiful no matter where you see them—up close, far away. Louis’ just beautiful.

                He runs an awkward hand through his long hair and then sticks it in the pocket of his hoodie, all the while Louis looks on amused, his eyes dancing a bit around Harry’s face, making Harry feel a bit self conscious.

                “Hi,” he tries not to sound too breathy, but he’s not sure if he fails or succeeds. Louis’ reaction doesn’t give much away. He just smiles, slow, his lips curling at the end and his eyes crinkling at his sides in a way that Harry finds stupidly endearing. Harry wants to turn around so bad, but somehow, his feet stay stuck where he is.

                “Hello,” Louis replies, and his voice is as soft as his hair, and he’s got an accent. Nothing posh, but something definitely foreign like Harry. Harry is so fucked. “Um, didn’t meet you at orientation did I?”

                “No, um. I had a bit of a family issue so I had to make that bit up,” _but I wish someone would’ve fucking told me you were my RA. And how the hell did I never notice. I wish I would’ve noticed. You’re way too fucking cute for my own good,_ Harry doesn’t add.

                “Right,” Louis nods curtly, “well, glad to meet your acquaintance,” he sticks out his hand for Harry to shake and Harry tries really hard not to think about or feel endeared about the way his hand completely cover Louis’ small ones. Nope. No. “I’m Louis,” he introduces himself the same way any person would, and Harry thinks that after the way Niall made it sound, Louis would introduce himself in a snarky way. But he doesn’t and Harry wish he just would so he could have a reason to not be so endeared with him already. It’s not good, it’s got “disaster” written all over it.

                “Harry,” he replies, trying to go for a lop-sided grin or something. Louis keeps smiling at him and Harry doesn’t want to be rude. They let go of each other’s hand and Louis steps back a bit, opens the door a bit more and makes way for Harry to squeeze into his dorm, “come on in,” he invites warmly. Harry swallows. Thinks of maybe making up an excuse where he has to go, can’t, or something, but one look at Louis’ expectant face and Harry’s stepping into his dorm despite his better judgment.

                Louis’ dorm is a bit messy with clothes thrown about places, books piled up in random desks and corners, but all in all, it’s nice. It’s definitely nicer than Harry’s dorm, as where his own, personal space is so tiny because he shares a room about the same size as Louis’ with two other people. And Harry like how Louis’ decorated the place. There are Christmas lights all against the wall and he’s painted the walls teal and black—something Harry’s not allowed to do in his own dorm. Perks of being an RA, he supposes. And he has posters hung up too, one of beyonce that Harry snorts a bit at, and others of ballet dancers Harry doesn’t know the names of but is sure as extremely influential in Louis’ life. He has a bulletin board hung up too, with personal pictures of Louis and his friends. Harry tries not to stare at that too hard. The door to his room is open to Harry notices Louis’ bed, papers thrown all over it and the duvet black and white, and then there’s the small living room space Louis’ made for himself where he leads Harry too. There’s more clothes and books there, but there’s also a couch and a sitting chair that Louis motions for Harry to sit on while he curls himself on the couch and a glass coffee table, mostly covered by books and tea mugs.

                He takes a seat and moves a bit of Louis’ clothes to the side awkwardly, and just enough for him to sit.

                Louis laughs a bit under his breath, and Harry automatically wishes that not everything Louis did Harry found adorable.

                “I’m not going to apologize for the mess—though my mom would totally scold me for not doing so. But like, I’m busy,” he shrugs, and Harry smiles full on, unable to control his face, “I, um—I’m a junior, and like I graduate in a year and I—well, I dance,” he gestures to the posters on the wall of his dorm, hoping for Harry to get the picture as Harry doesn’t already have it clear and cut in his mind, “so, like I don’t know. Don’t have much time to clean up,” he offers.

                “I know,” Harry automatically replies, and Louis’ face scrunches up in confusion so Harry quickly clarifies, “that you dance, I mean. I still haven’t gotten that busy yet. I’m only a freshmen but I do—I’m on the football team. Um, I don’t know if you—I’m the quarterback,” he says a bit awkwardly, hoping it doesn’t show too bad. He thinks maybe it doesn’t when he sees Louis give him a toothy grin.

                “I know,” he almost whispers, and Harry tries to control the beating of his heart when Harry realizes Louis knows who he is. Louis knows he is too. Shit.

                Harry’s eyes go a bit wide, he can’t help it, and Louis’ laughter picks up. Soon, Harry’s laughing with him, if only to relax himself a bit.

                “Harry Styles, our new golden boy,”

                Louis doesn’t say it with a sour taste in his mouth, but with all the mocking and taunting Harry’s gotten all weak, he still kind of takes it that way, and his frown immediately takes over his smile. That makes Louis’ smile disappear too.

                “Hey,” he says, voice soft and searching for Harry’s eyes to meet his, so Harry’s do, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, like. I just—you’re all everyone talks about, you know? It’s good.”

                Harry’s eyebrows shoot up at that, “I’m all everyone ever talks about?”

                Louis’ smile returns slightly back to his face, and in return, so does Harry’s, “yeah. You really don’t know or you’re playing modest?”

                Harry shakes his head and holds his hands up in surrender, “I really don’t know.”

                “Alright,” Louis says, sounding a bit pensive as he looks at Harry carefully, “I guess since it looks like you’re telling the truth, and you need a bit of an ego booster”—Harry genuinely laughs at that one—“I’ll let you know that yeah. You’re all everyone talks about. ‘OH, Harry Styles and his dreamy, dreamy hair, and his beautiful green eyes, and his arms, and _those tattoos_!’” Louis mimics in a high pitched voice, batting his eyelashes obscenely and puckering his lips at the end. Harry’s laughing enough where his tummy’s hurting by the end of it and he raises his hand for Louis to stop, unable to verbalize that he gets it. Louis laughs a bit with him but does stop.

                “But yeah, basically. I figure everyone in this school is bloody in love with you, mate.”

                Harry gets a bit serious at that, because that’s definitely not true. But Harry wonders if Louis even knows any of the other players, knows anything about his team or his sport. Maybe if he did, it’d be easier to tell Louis why he’s here.  Because now that he knows Louis is his RA, he’ll want to be around so much more often, but he wasn’t coming over with that in mind, he was coming over with something else.

                “Um,” Harry clears his throat, makes himself a bit more comfortable in his chair while Louis keeps looking at him, “do you like football? Like, as in, do you come to the games and stuff? Not that we’ve had one yet this semester but, in the past?”

                Louis crinkles his nose a bit and shrugs, “honestly? I think the sport is a bit barbaric and pointless,” Harry pretends to be wounded by raising a hand to his chest and making a face and it earns him a roll of his eyes but also a smile so it’s worth it, “I like our football back home better. But like, yeah. I go to a few of the games. My girl friends like it. They’re American so I guess it’s customary.”

                “I like to watch English football more, if I’m honest. I probably shouldn’t be saying that but,” he shrugs, “but I like this football better, obviously. I’m good at it. I’m rubbish at football back home. You would think I had no athletic capability if you ever saw me play.”

                Louis startles a laugh at that and his eyes crinkle the way Harry’s really starting to like in a really short period of time that he figures can’t be good, or healthy.

                “I’ve actually never played football over here but I’m sure I’d be rubbish at it anyways. However, football back home I was fine with. Guess it’s because you’ve got strong arms and I’ve got strong legs,” Louis carries on easily, comfortably, and it dawns on Harry that ever since they exchanged their hello’s at the door the whole conversation has been like that. It’s been easy and not forced, like two old mates having a good chat. The astounding this they’re not two old mates. So it’s a bit scary, but it’s also a bit great, and Harry almost forgets why he even wanted to speak to an RA and why he was so troubled before meeting Louis. Almost.

                He sighs, and tries to think for the right words before letting out a breath, “do you know any of the lads on the team?”

                Louis smiles, though his eyes don’t crinkle and Harry figures that has to mean something even if it’s too early on to make sure, “ah, so there it is.”

                “What is?”

                “Why you’re here,” Louis replies easily and Harry wonders, in the back of his mind, whether Louis’ just good at reading people or whether he’s just good at reading Harry. He tries to think for the first, so it doesn’t feel personal, so it doesn’t feel like it’s meant for him, but hopes for the second.

                Harry coughs in his hand, and runs another finger through his knotted, long hair. He knows Louis’ staring.

                “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess. I just—I want someone to talk to who’s supposed to like help, you know? I didn’t want to run my mouth to just anyone and cause ore friction or problems or whatever.”

                Louis nods like he understands and maybe he truly does. He works in a team too, Harry’s sure. At least from time to time, and if all Niall’s said is true, and he’s sure it is because Niall doesn’t seem like the lying type, then maybe people envy him as much as they envy Harry. It sounds narcissistic in his head, but Harry knows better to admit it to himself. It is envy Josh has for him, and how somehow convinced a good portion of Harry’s team to have for him too, because Harry’s never been anything but nice to Josh. The only thing Harry could think of to make Josh dislike him is the one thing Harry has no actual control over of, and even if he did he wouldn’t change it. He wouldn’t give up his talent of better quarterback than him, being the starting quarterback, just for his sake.

                “So,” Louis speaks, and it draws Harry away from the thoughts inside his head. Louis is looking at him earnest and open, eyes so blue that Harry almost drowns in them for a moment, “what’s up? What’s going on with the guys on the team?”

                Harry pauses for a second, “do you know them?”

                Louis sighs, not like he’s exhausted from Harry, but like he feels a bit bad for him, “yeah, Harry. I know ‘em. They’re alright, I guess. It’s not really anything friendly just like, a fist bump in the halls or something. But listen even if like, we were best buds—which we’re not so don’t panic—that’s not supposed to matter to me and it doesn’t. My job, before anything else, in the floor of this dorm is to make sure you feel comfortable and safe in this environment and on our campus, and I intend to damn well at it,” At his words, Harry feels the bit of his worry dissimilate but he’s still a bit cautious as he continues. It’s not that Harry’s scared the guys will beat him up or anything. Harry’s strong enough to stand his ground and really, even if he wasn’t, they would never. It would get them suspended from the team and would do almost no harm to Harry and he knows that’s not what they want. They want quite the opposite. Harry just hates conflict and confrontation so, it’s not the easiest thing to be vocal about.

                “Josh is just—um, the ex-quarterback?” Harry asks dumbly, making sure Louis has an idea of who he’s referring to, Louis nods. “Yeah, well. Him. Ever since I came in and kind of took his place, he’s been an absolute bitter asshole about it. And I get it. I would’ve been a bit pissed and a bit sad even, too, if some freshmen kid had just come from across the fucking—sorry—pond and taken my place. _As a junior_.  So, yeah. I get why he’s angry but it’s not my fault? It’s not my fault I’m better and I’ve already got scouts lined up and he—he doesn’t. Like I’ve worked my ass to get where I am and I don’t—I don’t feel like it’s fair that they try to make practices flunk so I’ll do worse in games and less scouts will want me and I don’t think it’s fair that he’s jeopardizing my future and getting everyone to join him in his malicious plan just because he doesn’t have one,” Harry takes a breath, long and hard, “I may sound like a bit of prick or something, sorry. But it’s just frustrating. And today in practice we were running plays and I can tell he hates his new position and he was just goofing off, not taking it seriously, and it just got me so mad I had to say something, so I did. And then we almost hit each other and—” Harry runs his hands through his face, frustration climbing over him again as the afternoon’s events clobber his mind, “I just don’t want to lose everything because of some dick with an inflated ego who can’t deal with competition being better than him but I—it’s just frustrating. Sorry.”

                When Harry looks back at Louis, Louis is staring at him long and hard and calculating, Harry can see things turning in his head, all of Harry’s story catching up to him. He did ramble. Harry tends to do that when he’s upset and irritated and most of all, frustrated. He just came to the states to play football, do with his life what he wanted, and he just doesn’t want that to be ruined by Josh. Who the fuck is he do dictate Harry’s life? Harry gets a bit squeamish in his seat when a couple of moments pass between them and Louis says nothing, just staring at Harry with a blank expression. But then his face breaks out into a slow and delightful grin, and Harry has to bite back his own, not sure where it’s going to lead to for Louis, not wanting to make an idiot out of himself.

                “Okay,” Louis says, strong and indignant, “first of all—I think it’s stupidly cute how you apologize for cursing—which you don’t have to by the way. I’m sure you’re well over fifteen. But yeah, it’s cute.” Harry can see a bit of a blush form over Louis’ chiseled cheeks and he hopes Louis can’t see the same, because Harry can definitely feel his face warming up even if he’s not a stranger to compliments.

 “And secondly, you’re absolutely right. About Josh being a tit. He’s definitely being a tit and he definitely has no right to just because he’s jealous. I’ve dealt with it before, and as much as I wanted to pull her hair out, I knew it better. You can’t just lose your cool, Harry. I know it’s hard and I know it’s easier said than done but there are two terrible things that come out of that.”

 Louis holds up a finger, “The first is what you said—you lose everything. Because you hit Josh, or you two go at it or whatever, and then Coach Miller will have but no choice to suspend you from the team and that could definitely affect the way scouts see you,” Louis holds up a second finger, “and two—because it’s what they want. Josh and the guys, they want to affect you, get under your skin, throw you off your game. What you should do is talk to Coach Miller about it. He takes his team and the game very seriously, I’ve seen it,” he rolls his eyes and Harry chuckles a bit, “so if he sees that what you’re saying is true, and he sees Josh’s attitude and the way he doesn’t care about the game, he’ll take care of it. Unfortunately it is a team game, so you guys all have to play well to win, but even if you don’t, you don’t all have to play well for _you_ to play well. Scouts are coming to see _you_ **.** If you lose, but they’ve got their eyes on you the whole time, they’ll see you’re not the problem but you’re team, and all will be okay, you know? I’m not saying winning for what you’re aiming for doesn’t matter I’m just saying—focusing on yourself is the best thing you can do right now,” Louis takes a huge exaggerated breath and then lets it out just as much, Harry can’t help but smile, laugh a little. “Am I making any sense to you?”

                Harry laughs, because Louis looks exhausted with his own speech, but he thinks that it makes a lot of sense, and so does Louis. He can see now why they got Louis as an RA—although, he’s not really sure what qualification one might need for that—he knows Louis’ good at it. So he grins at him, good and proper, his chest already feeling lighter with less tension.

                “Yeah, actually. Makes a lot of sense,” he genuinely says, and Louis looks so pleased Harry’s grateful he’s given a good reply.

                “I’m glad I can help. It’s what I’m here for, Harry. So never hesitate to come knock on my door, okay?”

                Harry wants to argue with himself how that’s not okay, and he really shouldn’t and Louis shouldn’t, and Louis should really not smile at Harry like that because if he really wants to help he’s only going to get Harry in a heap more of trouble if Harry takes Louis’ words literally and never hesitates to knock on his door.

                But all he says it, “thank you,” all laced with honesty and he hopes, just _hopes_ , he won’t somehow fuck this all up.

\--

 

                Louis goes from knowing Harry as the new, big shot, quarterback of their elite university to knowing his as the big, over sized, good natured and hearted, goofball who comes over every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, from nine pm to three in the morning that he actually is. Cuddling up, talking, watching movies, and sometimes even studying in silence. They bond over a lot of things, seeing as neither of them are actually American and are both from small towns back home. They bond over similar interests—like reality television and favorite Disney flicks. And they just click in a way that Louis has only ever clicked before with one thing in his life. Which is dancing.

And it’s fucking easy, easier than any friendship Louis’ made in the three years he’s been in college and in America. And Louis knows that by the third week rolls around and they’re still doing this, still hanging out and leaving in each other’s pockets after practice and classes in the comfort of Louis’ dorm  he has to be careful. Because for all that Harry is bambi-limbed and youthful, he’s also dangerously sexy as hell, and attractive, and charming. He has to be mindful not to catch feelings, not to tread the waters too deep. Because he knows, of course, Harry’s not into guys the way Louis is. He’s never indicated anything of the sort, and though he hangs around Louis all the time, he doesn’t seem more interested in him in anything other than a friendly way. Which saddens Louis, a bit, but he knows it’s okay in the long run. He’s found a friend in Harry that could get messed up by all that relationship stuff and he has David anyways. Kind of, whatever.

The point is Louis knows he should be cautious anyhow, and so he tries to actually, be really careful. He thinks he’s doing a fairly good job, considering it’s impossible not to want Harry Styles, all the girls do. Which is why he doesn’t know how he ends up on his knees in front of Harry, with Macy to his left, Harry sitting on the edge of the bed, fly undid, and a bottle of vodka completely emptied out by the three of them in someone else’s dorm room.

                In all actuality, Louis would be a liar if he said he didn’t know the technicalities of how. It’s more the principal that Louis’ a bit fuzzy about.

                It started off with him attending a party thrown by one of the football players—that Harry’s actually not cross with and Louis always gets dragged to by his friends—and getting a good amount buzzed by the time Macy was whispering in his ear, “I’m gonna fuck Harry Styles.”

                Louis had heard her fine, ignoring the twinge of jealousy pooling in his stomach. Louis knows jealousy is a horrid thing, does things to people and makes them act different so he tried not to listen to it, to be happy for Macy. Just because he couldn’t get his hands on Harry didn’t mean he couldn’t be happy for his friends who could. So he placed a smile on his face, looked over to her line of sight where Harry was standing, red cup in his hands, curls smoothed out and long on his shoulders, deep parted favoring one side and his shirt sheer and buttoned low, low, low, jeans so tight it was just obscene. Harry was just obscenely attractive, always.

                “Good for you, Mace,” he tried to sound genuinely happy for her, and he hoped her generous amount of alcohol intake would just do the work for him, “get at him.”

                She gulped the rest of her drink down, then took her clammy hand in his. He looked down, and his eyebrows shot up.

                “You’re coming with me,” she slurred a bit, but her eyes were fully open so Louis knew she was alright enough to make proper decisions and all that. Her speech was just always sloppy and even worse when she drank, “we’re gonna fuck Harry Styles together. I’m gonna grab that bottle,” she pointed to a Grey Goose bottle on a table nearby untouched, “and we’re gonna grab that boy,” she pointed to Harry, who’s dimples were now on full show as he spoke to a boy who Louis was pretty sure was Niall Horan, “and we’re gonna go into that room,” she pointed at a dorm room door closed, “and we’re gonna fuck Harry Styles. Lets go,” she yanked on his hand, but Louis being a bit stronger than her pulled her back, biting a too big of a laugh back.

                “Woah, woah, Mace, slow your role. How do you even know Harry would be down for that? To fuck me?” Louis asked curiously because really—why would Macy even think that was okay. Surely it couldn’t just be the alcohol. Then she really was worse than he thought and he should get her home.

                She rolled her eyes instead, “get off it, Lou. Everyone wants to fuck you. Even the boys who swear they don’t. Harry may not be gay but he has eyes, and so do I. Plus it’ll be the three of us so just—come.”

                Louis still doesn’t know what possessed him to listen to her logic, or actually let her drag him to towards Harry and stand back while she whispered something in his ear. And he still doesn’t know what she said, or why Harry seemed to agree too, agreeing to join them in the room in a few minutes and actually following up. See, Louis knows all the how’s. All the how’s that lead up to him on his knees before Harry, ready and even incredibly eager to suck his dick, but he doesn’t know any of the why’s. Technicalities can be left to resolved later, maybe. Louis’ not sure. His brain’s a bit fuzzy.

                He’s too busy looking up at Harry, who’s looking down at him with the same wide eyes, to even notice Macy tipping over, until she hits the ground with a loud thud. It’s only loud to Louis and Harry though, the party clearly still going strong outside. Louis looks at her, her face smashed between the ground and her arm and the bottle rolling out of her hand and somewhere in the room Louis can’t seem to be bothered with.

                “Oh shit,” Louis says, his hands coming up to cover his mouth. There’s a moment where he seriously panics, sees his whole future blink and disappear before his eyes because she might be fucking dead and Louis might be liable, but then she snores, and Louis feels so much relief wash over him that he bursts out into a loud laugh.

                Harry’s laughing with him. Tipping his head back and exposing his throat and that’s not good for Louis’ drunken and horny mind.

                “Guess she did down most of that bottle herself,” Harry chimes in, his voice slower and deeper than usual and fuck if it’s not even sexier. Louis thinks it’s definitely not fair.

                “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat and trying to compose himself. He looks up at Harry, who’s looking down to him again, watching, staring, eyes so green and glass and red. Louis clears his throat once more, feeling it tighten with every minute that passes by him that he keeps looking at Harry.

                He tries to stand to his feet, but his knees are wobbly, and Louis doesn’t want to think of the why for that either. Whether it’s because the alcohol’s made him clumsy or Harry has. But either way, Harry takes a hold of his hand, tries to help Louis up but Louis still stumbles and somehow, because God truly hates Louis, Louis ends up on Harry’s lap, face stupidly close to Harry’s. And he thinks maybe it’s the perfect time to find something about Harry that disgusts him, completely turns him off. But really are he gets are lips pinker up close, and green eyes showing speckles of gold, and a face so smooth and so nice Louis can’t even be critical of it. It’s just not fair.

                His breathing labors and he knows it’s obvious when he speaks, but there’s not way to stop the stammering of his heart now that it’s started, and Louis just hopes Harry forgets in the morning, or he’s able to blame it on the alcohol later if he doesn’t.

                “I—um. I should go,” Louis whispers against Harry’s face, and he’s so close that he knows if he moved but an inch that their lips would’ve brush when he spoke. He knows what he’s saying is true though. The only reason this was ever going to happen was because Macy was in the mix and Harry probably didn’t want to pass an invitation to get his dick wet even if Louis was in the mix. And of course, Harry could just take him from behind, pet his ass for the glory that it was, and forget Louis was a dude when it came for Louis’ turn. Not like it hadn’t happened before. But now it’s just Louis, and he’s sure Harry’s not into it anymore.

                “Yeah,” Harry replies, and his breath fans over Louis’ entire face that Louis has to flutter his eyelashes shut. Even his breath, though smelling of alcohol, smells nice, “yeah, maybe you should,” Harry whispers and his voice is just—it’s right there. In Louis’ ear, making its way to everywhere that Louis can feel it. And Harry’s telling Louis he should go, but he’s not acting like it. Because he feels Harry’s arms tighten around him like he doesn’t want him to and when he opens his eyes, he sees Harry leaning in closer and closer.

                It’s kind of like in that moment Louis really can’t even see the “why’s” anymore, nor does he care for them. The “how’s” too, seem to fly over his head and in a bin labeled “discarded.” Everything just kind of stops becoming a riddle and everything starts becoming purely in the now. So when he realizes he’s half naked, pants discarded somewhere on the floor with Macy’s sleeping body, on top of Harry Styles, reveling in the sweet taste of his mouth, he doesn’t panic. And he doesn’t guess how he ended up where he is. He just enjoys it. Harry seems to be enjoying it to, his jeans forgotten as well and hands losing themselves all over Louis’ body, fingers tangling to his hair, tongue pressing down on his own, lips on lips, and it’s just that they’re both everywhere and nowhere but only on each other at the same time.

                And then Harry is flipping them over, with his strong arms that Louis can’t pretend he doesn’t drool over like everyone else in their campus for, and Louis is under him and Harry’s mouth and hands and fingers are still on him, kissing down, and down and down. His mouth misses him, but Louis’ happy he’s able to catch a breath, panting and his chest is heaving, and everything just feels tremendously surreal and Louis’ is trying to bask in it until Harry’s mouth reaches his dick. After that, it’s all a blur and mess of limbs and clothes being thrown and articulated words being replaced by unabashed moans.

                It’s the cliché of how one thing leads to another, but that’s entirely how it goes, and how Louis ends up sucking Harry’s dick while Harry does an excellent job of eating out Louis’ ass—which is crazy, it’s crazy and Louis’ not thinking about it but Harry’s amazing at it and Louis’ trying not to think about whether that’s because Harry’s done it before, to guys like him, or if he’s had practice with girl’s vaginas or even their asses, but he does it so well Louis’ not sure. Then again, Louis should’ve started suspecting something before they got to where they are—seeing as Louis has been with a couple of straight boys here and there, but none of them have been as eager as Harry, or slow, or tentative. It’s hard to process everything at once when he’s trying to take Harry’s more than average length all the way down while his ass is being completely penetrated by Harry’s tongue, and then he’s sure—at least one finger. It’s fine, it’s all fine until Harry’s mouth leaves his ass, and he’s saying, in a really breathy and rough and raspy voice, “wait—Louis. Wait, I’m gonna come. Louis” but either Louis’ drunken hazy mind can’t process it fast enough or  for a split second he doesn’t care, because he doesn’t remove his mouth and Harry’s cum shoots all the way down his throat. This is the part were realization kind of dawns on them both, and like most realities, theirs is not a pretty one.

                It’s eerily silent as Louis removes his mouth from Harry’s dick, and then just extracts his body all together, smacking his lips. There are a lot of things going through his once silent mind now that the roar of Harry’s orgasm has passed. It’s a lot but mostly all along the same lines of— _are you a fucking idiot? What the fuck were you thinking? You could’ve just thrown away your whole future again. For a straight guy, who probably won’t even look at you after this._ That’s where the panic begins. And Louis’ not looking over at Harry, but he can tell, from the way Harry is extremely still compared to just how active every part of him was a moment ago, that panic is probably coming down on him too.

                “Fuck,” Louis breathes, it’s short and his chest feels like it’s coming in on itself, “fuck,” his hands go up to his hair, pull hard and like it’s a punishment for being a complete dumbass, “fuck, fuck, fuck”

                Louis’ tunnel vision is on a spot on the floor, feeling  unable to look at anything else. He thinks if he looks at Harry he might throw up, and if he looks at Macy, he’ll definitely throw up, so he just keeps staring at that one spot, the consequences of what he’s just done rushing and moving at lightning speed through his mind. He feels like he’s suspended in it, can’t catch up to the minute.

                He knows Harry’s pulling at him, with careful hands and touches—not nearly as eager or careless as they had been a moment ago. He kind of wants to yell at him not to, but he knows his voice is lost anyways, somewhere deep in his worries, and even so—it’s not Harry’s fault. Harry warned him, he did. Louis didn’t listen. That’s how Louis often finds himself in these messy situations because _he never listens_. Just like he didn’t listen to his better judgment before all this began. Just because he’s Louis Tomlinson and sometimes he thinks the world is at his feet because sometimes it is. But there are so many different parts to the world and Louis’ not even close to having all of it, as much as he likes to fool himself into thinking he does sometimes.

                Louis still can’t look at Harry even when he can tell he’s on his laps, Harry’s hands rubbing circles down the crook of his back, touching him a bit more leisurely, “hey,” Harry whispers, soft and slow and a voice that sounds more like the one Louis’ become acquainted with and fond of in only three weeks, “hey, look at me Lou, please” 

                Louis closes his eyes for a moment, the kindness to Harry’s voice soothing the crashing waves of panic in his mind. He tries to control his breathing first, so then maybe his chest will loosen and he won’t feel like he’s about to collapse all over himself at any given moment. After a beat or two, he does turn his face, eyes still shut and heart still beating a bit too hard and fast. When he thinks he’s ready, he slowly opens his eyes to meet Harry’s, who are looking right at him. Of course, he’s never going to be ready to look into Harry’s eyes like that. Harry’s eyes are not only green but they’re pure, they’re as soft as his soul and somehow it’s just easy to see when he’s this close, in this kind of intimate setting.

                Harry’s lips quirk up a bit at the side, but only a bit and just barely, and Louis knows it’s meant to be comforting more than anything else, “it’s okay, alright? Don’t—don’t panic”

                “How am I not supposed to panic, Harry?” Louis’ voice croaks out, surprising not only himself but Harry as well that he’s actually managed to speak after going mute for a whole five minutes—or more. Louis’ not sure.  He can tell because Harry’s eyes grow a bit wider, although he tries to do it discreetly. This up close, Harry can’t hide much from him, especially not the staggering beat of his own heart that Louis can feel that shows Harry’s panicking as well—even if it’s not for the same reason Louis is. He swallows, “I—I swallowed your come, Harry, and I’m not—don’t take this the wrong way but I don’t know where you’ve been or what you could have and what if I have something now. I just—how am I supposed to make a career out of my dancing if I’m sick or something or—”

                “Hey,” Harry cuts him off, but his voice is still low and soft around the edges and from what Louis can tell, he’s not offended, he’s just concerned still, “hey, look. I don’t—I haven’t been with anyone since I lost got tested, okay? Which was before the semester started. Had to do a bunch of tests for football and coming to the US, and well—whatever. Point is, I don’t have anything so please don’t panic because of that, okay? I mean, it’s true. Don’t like do that with just anyone, always be safe even if you wanna have a good time. But for this instance, you’re good,” he gives Louis a small and shy kiss on his cheek when he’s done, his left hand coming up to rub and down Louis’ naked thigh. Louis tries to pretend he doesn’t like that more than he does.     

                He smiles though, even if it’s shaky and not all too genuine, he smiles because he doesn’t know Harry well, or even much, but he knows Harry’s a damn good person and he just wouldn’t lie about something like that. He’d be honest, even if it would put him a rough spot. Because Harry’s kind of a people pleaser, he wants everyone to like him and enjoy his company—which is why Louis suspects Harry has such a hard time with the other guys and Josh not liking him, even when they manage to not do anything about it. Also, Louis can’t help but find it endearing that Louis’ just given him the “be safe, always” talk.

                “I can’t believe you just gave me the ‘safe sex’ talk,” Louis giggles, short and nothing like a good heart-felt laughs he likes to have. But after the bit of panic he’s just endured, Louis thinks it’s good enough.

                Harry smiles a bit wider, a bit goofier and like himself, “hey,” he pats Louis’ thigh where his hand still rests very lightly, “I’m just looking out for you, you know? I care about you.”

                Louis gets a bit serious, but not in a bad way but in a more like “you’re straight out of a fairytale” way. As in, he can’t believe Harry Styles is real and at first, Louis just wanted to suck his dick—which he did do, it was great—and maybe fuck him, but he knows it’s more than just sexual with Harry, even if that does play into account.  Because Harry’s honest about almost everything so Louis knows he means that, and Louis knows he feels the same. He does care about Harry. He feels an overwhelming desire then to kiss him.

                “I want to kiss you,” he whispers against Harry’s mouth, slightly leaning in but not going for it. There’s still doubt there, a huge amount even though Harry’s not actually pushed him off yet. If anything, he’s held him close. But Louis doesn’t miss the way Harry’s heart rate still picks up at Louis’ words. He screws his eyes shut, like Louis’ words have physically pained him and although Louis feels something deflate in his chest, he always feels the way Harry’s hand clutches on his thigh. His head comes to rest on Louis’ shoulder, light, and Louis can feel small puffs of breath escaping his mouth, like he’s trying to control his breathing. Maybe he is. But Louis is still stupidly confused, mostly because Harry hasn’t pushed him off at all yet, actually he’s done quite the opposite. He’s clutched on to him harder, and he hasn’t just turned him down, and he almost looks like he doesn’t want to but he also doesn’t look like he’s pleased with what Louis’ told him and Louis gets why he wouldn’t be, it was a shot in the dark it was—but.

Louis is just tremendously confused and Harry offers no kind of relief for a couple minutes, where he just lays his forehead on Louis’ shoulder, breathing shallow, and not saying a word, not even opening his eyes. Louis wants to move, pass his fingers through Harry’s hair and tell him to look at him and get him to look at him the way harry did to Louis when Louis was going through his own crisis. But Louis’ not like Harry. He can’t just soothe people with a touch and a soft tone, because that’s not Louis. It never really has been, and as much as he wants to be that person for Harry right now, there are just some things Louis will never get to be, for anyone.

                Louis sits on his lap, pliant for a while, his hand eventually comes to rest over Harry’s on his naked thigh and Harry doesn’t flinch or move away harshly, much to Louis’ bewilderment but also gratitude. It means things are- not as bad as Louis’ been thinking ever since Harry grew quiet. Louis feels Harry pick up his head from his shoulder and they lock eyes. Louis tries to search for something to prepare him for whatever comes next, but more than anything, even though Harry’s eyes hold a lot of sincerity in them, they don’t give much away. Harry doesn’t really speak with his eyes, he does that more with his body. And not in a sexual way, even. His body language just says a lot about the way Harry’s feeling, Louis’ noticed, even more so than it does for the average person.

                “I want to kiss you too,” he whispers really, really low, like it’s a secret and maybe it is, because Louis thinks if it was that simple he would’ve said it before and Louis would’ve known about it by now. But he didn’t and Louis didn’t, and although it should be a big surprise that Harry Styles wants to kiss him back, Louis is more focused on what the rest of Harry’s sentence is going to consist of. He knows he’s not done. Harry sighs large, “but Lou—I can’t. I—this is—I don’t. Fuck.”

                Before Louis can even try to make up Harry’s words, try to make sense of whatever Harry’s trying to say, Harry’s hauling him up in his arms like he’s light (and Louis is, mostly. Ballet’s had him forced to keep his figure, but he’s also a lot of muscle). Louis can’t say he doesn’t find it attractive, because he really does, and his dick starts to harden a bit and it’s embarrassing as much as it is uncalled for but Louis can barely help himself, he’s still a bit drunk and hazy. Harry sets him down gently on the stranger’s bed. Louis looks up with confused eyes, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t make to grab for Harry to lay down with him. Somehow he already knows that’s not going to happen even if he’s just as confused as anyone else watching the situation from the outside would be.

                “I’m sorry. But I’m gonna go now, okay? I think you should stay here for a bit, let the alcohol like lessen or whatever. Also, make sure Macy gets home. Um. I’m sorry. I—I want to,” Harry breathes rough through his nostrils and closes his eyes, runs a hand through Louis’ hair and pushes his fringe back gently, “I want to do everything with you. Right now. So bad. But just fucking admitting that to you is making my heart race, and I—this can’t happen. I don’t know why something even did, honestly. But i—I’m sorry. But I have to go, okay?

                And it’s not okay, not really and not at all. But Louis knows it’s helpless, because he’s just swimming in the ocean without a life vest every time Harry says a sentence. Louis’ not brain dead, so he can fit some pieces together but even then, the puzzle is jagged. He’s stuck again wondering the why’s and this time, he knows they’re crucial and important. He doesn’t hold on to Harry’s wrist though, he lets him go. Lets him kiss his forehead lightly, pick up his pants up the floor, run fingers through his hair and pat down his shirt to erase the evidence of what’s just happened—of what’s just happened with Louis. Maybe Louis should feel angry, or disappointed, wounded, but he can’t. Not with the Harry was honest with him, and not with the way his eyelids feel extremely heavy as Harry comes back to bring the duvet over Louis. And then he’s gone, and maybe Louis should be all that he thought before, but he actually only falls into a peaceful slumber somehow.

               

\--

                Louis’ exhausted, he is. But he has Rachel screaming in his left ear to get it right, and he has all the different voices in his head sounding like all the other people in his life who have ever told him he could never make it so far being a male ballet dancer like he wants screaming at him too, and he knows he has to keep going. He has to push. He’s been pushing since he was eleven, always behind but always catching up and getting ahead. That’s been his relationship with ballet his whole life pretty much and Louis knows, he knows a lot is riding on this one routine. He nails, he gets into one of the most prestigious dance programs in the country. He can do it. He can but—he’s exhausted and his shoulders are still tense and the stress of everything that’s been going on the last couple of days is weighing him down.

                He lands horrible, and knows before Rachel peeps a word that she’s going to ask him to do it again because he can feel in the soles of his feet, just how hard that land was. And that’s like, a ballet golden rule—you’re supposed to be light on your feet, graceful. And right now Louis is sloppy.

                He looks up, stares at his reflection in the mirror and sees his hair is matted down to his forehead, sweat clinging and dripping down his neck.

                Rachel sighs, loud and like she’s as tired as she is and she probably is. Must be exhausting to have to watch the same routine over and over again just for Louis to keep getting it wrong. Yelling is also annoying, and straining, and that’s pretty much all she’s been doing for the last three hours.

                “Louis,” she sounds completely exhausted but also a lot frustrated so Louis’ careful when he looks at her. The honey in her eyes is greener today, and she’s looking at Louis with straight irritation that Louis knows is fair. But he’s aware that this isn’t something she has to be doing, helping him with his routine. And he hates when people waste his time so he knows how she’s feeling.

                She sighs again and crosses her arms tight across her chest, “okay. Listen, I can tell something’s wrong with you today and like, you’re not all in it,” she’s not wrong so he doesn’t correct her, instead he kind of just looks down to his shoes. Tan and dirty, “but you don’t get to choose that. It’s not an option even on your worst days. You wanna be the best? You wanna dance? You always have to have your heart in it even if it’s trying to go somewhere else. So, no more of this. Got it? Next time you do this, you’re on your own.”

                Louis nods timidly, not even looking up to meet her eyes. But he thinks that does it, because she doesn’t keep scolding him. Instead she asks him to do the last part one more time—“though you should do the whole routine. All of it. A million times. But I’ve got kids I have to go feed and a dance team that needs to be coached at seven so get on with it”—and so he goes, does the last thirty or so seconds of the dance that he knows he needs to work on the most. He stands in a corner, gets into it even though the music isn’t playing this time in the background and starts moving. His hands reach out and then come back in, he turns then rises on the tips of his toes and pirouettes fast and hard and then he stops, like he’s done so many times, helped come up with so many hours with Rachel. He reaches with one hand, lifts his leg, and then he sprints enough to gain momentum and he leaps, brings his legs together, something flashes through his mind as he tries to whirl his body to spin and then—he falls. Straight on the floor. He doesn’t even land, he doesn’t even—he doesn’t even have an excuse for it.

                Rachel doesn’t say anything else as she grabs her things and goes but he knows what she’s thinking, can feel it radiating off of her. She’s disappointed, and she doesn’t think he wants it enough when he does, of course he does. He’s wanted this his entire life practically, he’s just—there’s so much and he—he yells. To an empty room, to no one. To himself.

                “Fuck!” he slams the wooden floor down with the palm of his hand, like it’s to blame for all his troubles, which is irrational but everything Louis’ been feeling lately feels that way. He stands up although he just wants to lay there on the wooden floor, sulk in his sadness and failure. He knows he needs to get up. So he does, and reaches in his bag for a water bottle and his phone. He feels everything bubbling in his chest and he knows what he needs to do. He needs to vent before it starts eating at him even more and he explodes at a horrible time and he ruins absolutely everything. He unlocks his phone and dials the one person who has always been there for him since he started this long journey of self discovery. He checks the time above the ballet studio’s mirrors, and sees it’s only one in the afternoon where he is, and knows Zayn will still be up. It only rings twice before Zayn’s voice is coming through the other line and Louis slumps down on the floor from how much better he feels by just hearing it.

                “What’s up, boo bear?” he greets familiarly. Louis laughs, but it sounds sad even to his own ears.

                “Zayn,” Louis says in his whinny voice, “I’ve got a huge problem that I don’t know how to fix.”

                “At,” Zayn pauses, “one in the afternoon over there? How the hell do you have a huge problem that early in the day, mate?”

                Louis rolls his eyes even though he knows Zayn can’t see him, “I’ve _been_ having this problem, idiot. I just—I didn’t really think of it as such a problem until now.”

                Zayn huffs, “well, how the hell was I supposed to know that you tit? You barely even call anymore.”

                Louis knows that’s true. In between studying and ballet, and well for the past couple weeks Harry (until he decided to disappear), Louis doesn’t have much time to call back home. But it doesn’t change anything about his friendship with Zayn. He’s the only person Louis trusts whole heartedly. He’s the only one who Louis’ not scared to show every side to, even the bad ones. Because he knows Zayn and he knows what Zayn’s like and he knows Zayn would never misjudge him. Despite all the great friendships he’s made with his girls in college, Zayn’s his number one. Louis thinks no amount of distant could ever make that fall apart. He’s even easier to talk to than his own mother, which Louis actually has a great relationship with.

                “Yeah,” Louis breathes, “sorry about that I’ve- been kinda busy”

                He hears Zayn laugh on the other side of the line, “I’m just yanking your change, Lou. It’s fine. I know if you’re not calling it’s not because you’re being a twat or whatever. It’s because you’ve got shit going on and I respect that,” Louis knows he does. When Louis was leaving his small hometown back home, Zayn was the only one who didn’t make him feel shitty for it. Even his mom kept telling him he could stay, do something with ballet there. But Louis knew that wasn’t true, and so did Zayn, so he actually encouraged Louis to go even if they would be apart for the first time since they met, “but now you’re calling so you got me a bit worried. What’s up?”

                Louis groans because it’s just—he doesn’t even really know. And he’s not sure how he’s supposed to explain it Zayn, or anyone, when he can barely make out any of it in his head. But he knows he has to try. He doesn’t think things in his current situation are going to change soon and he can’t let it keep affecting him the way it has. It’s made him tired. Both physically and mentally and all that Rachel said is true. If he just as much cares as little as a fraction less, it could take away everything he’s worked so hard for.

                “Okay, so do you remember Harry Styles? You uh, met him on our Skpe chat like a week and a half ago”

                Louis doesn’t need to see Zayn to know he’s grinning when he answers, “yup, the fit one. Golden boy, football star. Got it.”

                Louis puffs out his chest and slumps some more right after, “don’t go smiling. This isn’t a good thing.”

                Zayn stays quiet, so Louis know he’s at least trying to make an effort to not smile through this. He sighs, “okay, so. We might’ve maybe hooked up about five days ago?” he squints his eyes shuts and waits for Zayn’s reaction but it turns out, the line stays silent. He peeks an open, almost as if Zayn was right in front of him, and still nothing.

                “Hello?” he almost thinks the call dropped, but he checks his phone and Zayn’s call is still on his screen.

                “Shocking, Louis, really. What else?”

                And okay, “what the fuck, Zayn? It’s a bit shocking, okay? I thought he was straight, and who fucking knows he still might be—”

                “No straight dude hangs another dudes dorm, knowing he’s well in to dudes, the way Harry hangs with you. I mean, maybe the kid is in the closet, or just confused, I don’t know. But you don’t need to be Nancy Drew to figure out the kid is at least into you. Except you, of course. Because you’re self depreciative,” Zayn adds.

                Louis decides to ignore the last part, “Um, excuse me, Zayn,” he makes a disgruntled noise, “but you would”

                He can hear Zayn shift wherever he’s positioned, “yeah, and how many times have we fucked Louis?”

                Right. Louis almost always forgets that part. The part where Zayn and Louis used to sleep regularly together back in secondary school.  It wasn’t ever romantically, though sometimes Louis wonders heavily why they never did fall in love. They’re good for each other, and Louis loves Zayn more than anyone (besides his smaller sisters and maybe his mom) and he knows it’s the same for Zayn, which is why he let Zayn be his first and vice versa, and although Louis’ definitely in love with Zayn platonically, it just never happened. Louis thinks maybe his life would be simpler if it had. Seems he can’t fall in love with anyone, if it’s not the one person who probably shouldn’t. Not that he’s in love with Harry, but he knows if he ever let himself, and Harry ever let him, it wouldn’t be hard.

                “Right,” Louis says, because he doesn’t really have a good retaliation for that, “but anyways, I don’t know. Harry’s really open about everything, I figure if that was a thing he would’ve told me, you know?”

                “Maybe he doesn’t know it himself, Lou—though, I doubt it. He’s nineteen, the boy knows what gay feelings are. More likely than not, he doesn’t want anyone _else_ to know. You told me the pricks are his team are, well pricks to him,” Zayn’s always been a bit wiser than Louis though Louis is a year older and the way Zayn’s figuring out what Louis hasn’t been able to for the last five days proves it.

                “But, like. They know I’m gay, and the guys on the team are fine with me”

                “That’s because it’s you, Lou. It’s different. Besides, you’re not competition for them,” Zayn adds wisely, once more.

                Louis wishes people would stop saying that somehow homophobia is different when it comes to him, though. Besides the fact that it doesn’t really make any sense and it’s absurd, Louis doesn’t feel like it’s true.

                “I guess, but. Why not tell me? He’s told me other stuff about the guys on his team and he knows I haven’t told anyone, like,” Louis shakes his head in frustration even though he’s well aware Zayn can’t see him. He wishes it was that simple, just a shake of the head is all it takes to clear one’s mind.

                “Maybe because he doesn’t want to act on it. And if you know, that makes it well, harder. It’s easier for him to just fight off urges and things like that if he keeps everyone thinking he’s straight, and that includes you. One person knows and he feels comfortable and then somehow cracks starts to form along his walls”

                Louis blinks. Zayn makes too much sense for Louis’ own good. Louis may have gotten the talent out of the too, but Zayn’s obviously got the brains.

                “But he kissed me. And ate my ass.”

                At that, Zayn howls laughter and Louis allows himself to laugh as well, even if there’s still a hollow in his chest. Because Zayn’s laugh sounds like home, reminds him of it too, and when things pile on like they have recently, Louis gets greatly home sick.

                “Did he fuck you?”

                Louis doesn’t let flashbacks come back from the night. Harry’s delicate hands, the way Louis _really_ wanted him to. “No,” he pauses for a second to chew on his finger nail, a horrible and gross habit, “I think like, maybe it would’ve happened if we wouldn’t have stopped. But we did, because something happened—”

                “What happened?” Zayn cuts in, the exact way Louis wished he wouldn’t. He’s not that lucky.

                “Ugh, Zayn. Okay, fine I’m going to tell you but don’t yell at me because trust me I know it was irresponsible and I did panic right after, okay?”

                Of course Zayn yells, maybe not as bad as anyone else would have yelled, but he yells. Louis knows it’s because he cares. When he’s done, Louis continues, “ _Anyways_ , after that I guess, I don’t know. It set in his mind as well what had just happened, what he’d been doing. And then like I don’t know, I told him I wanted to kiss him and then he told me he wanted to kiss me too, but then he started panicking again, I think? And he started talking a lot of rubbish. He tucked me in and told me he was sorry and like other stuff that made no sense and then he walked out on me.”

                “He didn’t really walk out on you, then. He told you he was leaving, didn’t he?”

                “Yeah,” Louis says in a low voice. It helped, that Harry wasn’t one of those assholes that just hooked up with Louis, pretended to stay the night so Louis wouldn’t throw a fit or something, just sneak off whenever Louis couldn’t feel them. But it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt that he left anyways.

                “Louis, it sounds to me like this kid is really, really confused and terrified right now. Obviously, he likes you. But he’s not sure what to do about that, and he probably doesn’t want to because it’ll complicate things for him. He’s got a future riding for him out there—just like you—so of course, it’s scary that this one thing, _you_ , could send it all tumbling down. So you have to let him know it won’t if you really like him, can really see yourself with him like that. You have to let him know you’re there for him but you want this”

                Louis hides his face in the side of his arms, knees drawn up, “Zayn, he’s avoiding me.”

                Zayn scoffs, “obviously, asshole. Did you miss the part where I said he was scared? What do people do when they’re scared? They run,” doesn’t Louis know it, “that’s why you’ve gotta be the one to put on your big boy pants and go after him. If it’s worth it to you, of course. If not, let him go”

                It’s worth it to Louis to get it all straightened out. Even if at the end Harry doesn’t believe him, or Zayn’s wrong and it was really all just a drunken mistake on Harry’s part or whatever the real issue is, Louis knows he has to figure it out because it’s distracting him too much and he needs to get his head back in the game completely. He thanks Zayn, asks him about his life to distract him for a minute about his own problems, and then he wills himself to actually take Zayn’s advice. Of course, he doesn’t. Because Louis’ more of coward than he cares to admit and more so when it comes to matters of the heart. He tries to channel his energy on dancing mostly, which works because by the time he’s coming home Monday night from dance practice sweaty and ready for a shower and bed, he’s got his routine down and he’s feeling lighter. That is, until he sees Harry, with his head ducked down and his hands tight on his sides walking towards Louis’ dorm. He doesn’t notice Louis right away, but when he does and their eyes lock, Harry’s eyes look just like Louis remembers (obviously, it’s only been a week) even if they’re a bit more frantic, and an electric shock goes through Louis, or so it feels.

                They both walk slowly to meet right outside Louis’ door. Louis has a towel around his neck and Harry’s got a low cut, V-neck jumper on and his signature tight jeans. His hair looks freshly washed and his skin is starting to get a bronze tan from running drills in football practice. Louis knows he has a game coming soon. He’s attending.

                “Um,” he tries, his mouth feeling a bit dry, “hey.”

                Harry clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable with the way he fidgets with his hands, “hey. Can we, um,” he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he points at Louis’ dorm. Louis nods a bit staggeringly, but he manages to open the door either way with little shake from his hands. Once they’re inside it feels a little better. Somehow Louis’ place had become like a little hide out for them, just a space for both of them to be with each other, and Louis can feel that as they enter they haven’t really lost that. Not yet. He puts his duffle down by his door and then turns, Harry standing awkwardly by there too. He gestures for them to sit, the same way they did the first few times Harry kept coming around and they kept pretending it was strictly because Harry needed his RA wisdom.

                Louis catches Harry looking at his ballet tights for a second before meeting his eyes again, but when they do, he looks at Louis knowingly. And Louis’ chest starts to tighten again, a bad feeling looming over him.

                Harry eventually sighs, his shoulders slumping only a bit, showing that the tension is still around him, “Look, Lou. I think, I mean—it’s pretty obvious you still remember what happened that night and like, I’m sorry that I walked out like that. Or—honestly, I’m sorry _anything_ happened. It shouldn’t have.”

                Louis feels like a deflated balloon as soon as Harry’s words are out of his mouth. It feels just like he’s been punctures by something pointy and pinchy and he’s just deflating by the second. He blinks a bit, trying not to show how upset he is by all this. He shouldn’t be. In his mind, originally, he could never have Harry. And whether Harry’s just protecting himself, or he’s really unsure of his sexuality and unwilling to explore, the point is Harry is unwilling to pursue anything with Louis and he seems pretty set on that. Maybe if Louis had listened to Zayn’s advice earlier, he could’ve convinced Harry before he made up his mind—or something. But Harry’s mind looks made up as he looks at Louis with tired and timid eyes.

                Louis tries to smile through it, “It’s fine, Harry. Really. I mean, I want us to still be friends and stuff but I get if that’s like still weird for you now”

                Harry just keeps looking at him and Louis almost feels like throwing his towel at Harry’s face because he looks sad, or sorry, and Louis really doesn’t want his pity. Pity is like the second worst thing to jealousy in Louis’ book.

                “Lou, I—if you’re upset, I understand,” he says and Louis smiles wide this time, pleading his heart to stop feeling like it’s cracking in some places because it shouldn’t be and at least, Louis’ finally got some answers.

                “It’s really fine, Harry. Don’t worry,” and that’s kind of the end of the conversation though it feels like there’s so much more that needs to be said on both parties.

 

\--

 

                Harry needs to concentrate, he knows he does. They’re in the fourth quarter, a couple of minutes left and they’re tied 24-24, and they’ve got the ball. The win is in their hands and Harry needs to focus on what’s even being said to secure that win. But he can’t. He’s actually had a hard time concentrating all game. Because Louis’ been in the stands with the rest of the dancers, completely outshining the cheerleaders even if most of what they’re doing is just silly little dance steps and the cheerleaders are obviously trying their hardest and doing their best tricks to gain the attention of the audience again. But it’s just—he looks so pretty in his black and sparkle uniform, hugging him tight everywhere and ever since Harry saw a fraction of him naked, he doesn’t have to imagine what’s under those tights anymore, he knows, and he wants _more_. But it’s really hard to concentrate when the dancers wrap it up a five minutes before the game is over, and Louis gets approached by some guy with a bouquet of roses that all the other dancers on the team “awe” at, and gets kissed on the nose by said guy, gets his fingers intertwined too by said guy and the guy’s not even—he’s not even that good looking, honestly. He’s got a flannel on and he’s tall, but he’s lankier than anything, and he has hipster glasses perches on his nose, and funny hair and Louis could do better. But he his eyes crinkle when he smiles at him, and that’s the worst part, that Harry can tell Louis’ not faking a thing. Whatever the guy is doing, saying, Louis genuinely likes, and that’s the biggest distraction, the hardest blow to the stomach.

                “Styles!” Coach Miller yells right in his ear. He rips his eyes away from Louis and whoever and flicks his eyes to his coach quickly, “are you paying attention?”

                “Yes, sir,” Harry lies, because he really, truly wasn’t. But he should’ve been and he definitely doesn’t want anyone to notice why he wasn’t even if Josh is giving him a weird face from underneath his helmet, he doesn’t follow Harry’s old line of sight so Harry knows he’s in the clear. The Coach dismisses them right after that, and Harry really wishes he would’ve been paying attention because now he’s not sure what they’re doing. When they run back onto the field Harry looks back, to see Louis’ already gone, and it shakes him. It shakes him everywhere. He breathes through his nostrils and tries to focus. He needs to wing this, and he needs to do a damn good job because if not they’ll lose and it’ll definitely be because of him, because he can’t get his life together, can’t just let things fucking go for once. When all the players are in their positions and the refs whistle goes off to indicate the start of a play, all Harry has running through his head is the way the guy kissed Louis’ nose, and the way he doesn’t get to do that, the way he can’t, and he panics. They lose their first game of the season.

 

\--

                Harry doesn’t even notice he falls asleep in front of Louis’ dorm room door until someone is kicking him awake. It’s a light kick, and underneath his foot, but it still jostles Harry awake. He blinks, a bit confused, and looks up to try and focus his eyes on the two figures above his head. It only takes him a moment to realize it’s Louis, looking absolutely beautiful in skinny jeans and a loosely fitted tee (that Harry hasn’t seen him in like a week) and that fucking guy. Harry suppresses the urge to groan.

                Louis’ looking down at him with worried eyes, “Haz? You okay?” he offers his hand to Harry to help him stand, and although Harry is very aware that he doesn’t need it, he takes it anyways. If it’s just an excuse to touch Louis, no one needs to know.

                Once he’s well on his feet they let go, Louis still staring, looking on a bit confused but still worrisome and that’s something Harry takes a bit of pride in, “um. Sorry about that. I didn’t—I was just so exhausted. Coach made us do like one hundred squats and pushups and just,” he ruffles out his hair, very recent memories flooding his mind.

                When he looks at Louis, Louis’ still looking at him a bit dazed, so Harry adds, “we lost.”

                The moment the words are out, Louis’ eyes go from holding uncertainty to holding sadness, and sorrow for Harry. He knows how much football means to him, how much every win counts for Harry, and Harry wishes he wouldn’t look at him like that, wouldn’t show Harry he cares about him, cares about what he cares about. Because if Louis was indifferent or maybe even cruel, like Harry probably deserves him to be, then maybe Harry could fuel that to keep away, to make this easier on them both. But Louis’ as soft as his hair, and Harry knows that’s out of question.

                “Awe, dude, I’m sorry. That sucks,” says the fucking douchebag next to Louis. It’s not the first time Harry notices he’s there too, but it’s the first time he’s forced to look at him. Up close, the guy isn’t bad looking in the least—of course he isn’t, he gets to kiss Louis Tomlinson on the nose in front of bleachers filled with people. Harry never thought he’d be ugly, but he was still hoping hoping.

 “I’m David, by the way,” he says as means of introduction and Harry’s sure he doesn’t understand how much he really doesn’t care. However, it’s not his fault Harry has all these hard feelings towards him. He doesn’t know about him and Louis, clearly, obviously. Louis would never tell a soul what happened between them, even if Harry’s not given him a good reason as to why and Louis is lost probably. Louis just wouldn’t, because Harry can tell that Louis can tell it’s a big deal to Harry, and he wouldn’t deliberately hurt him. Which Harry is both grateful for and irritated with. Everything would be so much easier if Louis was an asshole. Anyways, he gives David his hand and gives him his own name, because the kid is just doing what any lucky bachelor would do—woo the best person to woo.

                “Don’t be too hard on yourself, man,” David offers as advice, Harry resists the urge to be scornful and instead tightens his jaw to keep quiet, “I saw you playing, you’re good. And the game was close, it’s just—FSU’s a good school, you know? Can’t win them all”

                Harry wants to correct him, wants to tell him he’s wrong. Because yeah, FSU is fucking great. Ranked second in the nation last season but Harry is also fucking great, he’s actually one of the best college quarterbacks right now and he knows it, and he knows had he concentrated like he was supposed to they would’ve won. If it wasn’t for this guy, and Louis, then Harry would’ve had his head on straight and they would’ve won. He would’ve have gotten a yelling from his Coach, or a ridicule from his asshole captain, and no one in the team would’ve been side eying him all through their locker room showers. They probably wouldn’t have congratulated him either, but they would’ve kept out his way for a bit and that’s exactly what Harry needs right now.  He just knows it would’ve been different had he not gotten distracted. But he doesn’t say anything other than, “yeah,” because it’s not like he could really explain all that to David if he wanted to, and he doesn’t want to either way.

                Harry can see from the corner of his eyes Louis glances between them, finally realizing what’s happening. Louis never mentioned a David to Harry, so he knows he’s not his boyfriend, but something tells Harry he’s not new in Louis’ life if Louis facial expression at them interacting is anything to go by.

                “Well,” David says and again, Harry has to suppress the feeling to roll is eyes, “Nice to meet you again, Harry. I guess I’ll let you, Lou, attend your RA duties and all that.”

                His whole body turns to Louis and Harry knows he should look away, it just burns something inside him even more every time he sees them together, but he doesn’t. Because Harry’s a bit of a masochist.

                Louis smiles up at David, who’s also taller than Louis, but the corners of his eyes don’t crinkle and Harry counts that as a victory. What for, he’s not sure. But it sits well with him.

                “See ya ‘round, Lou,” David says in a confident tone. So, definitely. He’s more than just a temporary thing and _that_ does not sit well with Harry. He gives Louis a peck on his forehead, and Harry curls his hand into a little fist underneath the pouch of his jacket. He gives one last wave to Harry and then he’s walking off.

                Louis watches until he’s out of sight and then he turns to Harry. Harry searches for his eyes, but Louis won’t even look at him, instead he fishes his keys out of his bag and unlocks his door. He doesn’t invite Harry in verbally, but when he steps inside he leaves the door open and inviting for Harry to come in. So Harry does, shutting the door quietly once he’s inside. Louis’ dorm looks the same as it does every time, but somehow Harry catches himself looking at it a bit more, because he misses it, he knows he does. They don’t speak as they take their respective seats in Louis’ living room area. It’s kind of just become a routine. But when Louis curls up on the couch, knees to his chest and he flings a bit of fringe out his eyes, Harry never wishes more that his place wasn’t sitting across from his in some lonesome chair but instead, it was right next to Louis. Harry has the crippling desire to touch him again, hold his lips to his.

                He swallows around that. “I just feel like a fucking failure, you know? We had that game I know we did, and we lost because of me.”

                Louis shakes his head subtly, “Haz, you can’t win them all. It’s true what David said, and it’s a team—”

                Harry can’t help it. The burning inside him becomes threatening and he just cuts Louis off, says in a low and hard tone, “ _Don’t_ talk about David to me. Please.”

                Louis eyes go a little wide, and he straightens up a bit. Harry can see him swallow, and he has to look away, he does, because everything about Louis makes him feel like he’s being pulled in deeper and deeper and he can’t breathe—he’s drowning but it’s so easy to just drown sometimes. But Harry can’t have that, he can’t. So he looks down to his lap instead.

                “Harry, I. O-kay?  I guess,” Louis sounds so confused when he speaks, his voice a bit shaken and definitely lost.

                Harry sighs, defeated. Maybe he is just a little bit, “Louis, do you wanna know why we lost? We did lose because of me, but do you want to know _why_? Because I was too busy focusing on you, and David apparently. I saw him bring you flowers and fucking—sorry—Christ, Lou, I hated that. It made me so angry and it made me so—I don’t even have words for it. Or maybe I do. Jealous, it made me crazy jealous. Because I want to be that guy to bring you a bouquet of roses, and drop you off at your dorm, and kiss your head when I go. But I know I can’t, and like I know I shouldn’t even be saying any of this because it’s going to make things so much harder and complicated and I’m sure that’s the last thing any of us need right now but—I hate that I can’t have you. Because I want you.”

                When it’s all out there said and done, Harry’s scared to look at Louis. Because he knows if he finds what he thinks he’s going to find, he’s going to go all the way under. The waves will pull too hard, come crashing in too reverently for Harry to relent, to fight back. He’s already walking on a thin line. He only finally looks at him when Louis speaks, because Harry finds it impossible to ignore Louis when he is.  

                “Harry,” he starts, and he’s looking at Harry in a way Harry can’t quite read, but Harry still feels the tide pulling, the waves coming, “I’m—I’m really confused? Like I don’t really understand what’s going on.”

                Harry thinks he might as well explain. He should’ve done it the day he came to see Louis after a week of avoiding him. But it just seemed too hard then, and so unnecessary when he really thought he was just going to be able to get over it. That thought seems to be proving itself more and more untrue as the days drag on though.

                He sighs, “Louis, I like guys. I’m not confused about that. I guess—I don’t know. I kind of like girls, too? But that’s like, whatever. I like to be with guys more than anything else. I’ve known that about myself for a long time but I know what it’s like to have a gay, or bisexual, whatever, player in the NFL—it doesn’t exist. And I’m not stupid enough to think my talent could break barriers. It won’t. What’s going to happen is I’m not going to get signed, and everything I left my family for, I’ve worked so hard for, is going to get flushed down the toilet before anything began if I just—if I can’t keep away from you.”

                Louis stays quiet for a moment, looking at Harry and obviously trying to let everything Harry’s just told him unfold in his mind. Harry’s not sure how Louis wasn’t able to draw the conclusion, seeing as he ate his ass and came down his throat but that’s neither here nor there. Now Louis knows indefinitely.

                “So, you want to be with me. You just can’t.”

                “Pretty much what I’ve been saying,” Harry replies, but he tries to make his tone light so Louis understands he’s not the problem, and he’s not the reason he’s angry. Shit, David isn’t even the reason Harry’s angry (not mostly at least). It’s just everything. It’s himself, his stupid homophobic sport.

                It’s quiet again, until Louis says, “would it help if I told you I wanted to be with you too?”

                Harry snorts, but a smile breaks through anyways because Louis’ looking at him under his eyelashes and he’s just beautiful and his voice is like honey, “no, honestly. Probably not.”

                He smiles mischievously at Harry, and Harry curses whoever put Louis in his path, “well, too bad. Because I do.”

                Harry shakes his head and laughs a bit under his breath, passing his fingers through his freshly washed hair, “Louis, I’m serious. This isn’t—it won’t work. Which is why I didn’t offer an explanation up the first time and I was hoping I could just drop it. But then I saw you with David and it just—it messed with my head. But I’ll drop it.”

                Louis seems to shake his head and then he’s standing, walking over to Harry. He should maybe put a hand on Louis’ hip and stop him from sitting on his lap the way Louis does, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck but who is Harry kidding? He’s long been under. He can feel the water filling his lungs.

                “But what if I don’t want you to drop it?” Louis says light.

                Harry wraps an arm around his tiny waist as he says, “it doesn’t matter unfortunately, what we want. It can’t happen. I have a lot riding on this, Louis. On football.”

                Louis looks pensive for a second as he looks down at Harry and Harry really hopes he hasn’t offended him. He likes Louis so much, knows it could take seconds to fall in love with him if he let himself, but it’s just not in the cards for them. And it’s not Louis, it’s Harry (as cliché as it sounds.)

                “I know,” Louis decides but he doesn’t sound too sad about it, “but what if we like—look, Harry. I really like you. And I think you really like me too. And after all this I don’t think I could just go back to being in the same room with you and not kissing your mouth,” his eyes flick down to Harry’s mouth and Harry licks his lips on impulse. Louis smiles, “but I don’t want you to just disappear on me again. I don’t. So what if we tried this in private? No one has to know but the people we want, and that could just be us for a bit, I don’t care. But I think—I think maybe we should try,” he looks shy at the end, looking at Harry underneath his lashes. Harry wants to say yes, God knows he does, but he doesn’t see how that could possibly work. He doesn’t mind just getting to have sex with Louis, but that’s not all he wants with him and he knows at the end, it’ll still be more and it’ll be so unfair to the both of them.

                “Louis, this isn’t like—it won’t be fair to you. To just keep you hidden. It’s not gonna change anytime soon, you know?”

                “I know,” Louis says it like he does, “and maybe it doesn’t work out, but what if it does?”

                “What if it does?” Harry echoes.

                “Then we could get to be together, fine, and we won’t have to miss out on something we both want.”

                Harry considers this for a moment, “but that’s like—you’re talking really long term.”

                Louis smiles and his face lights up in a way Harry really, really missed, “I know.”

                They look at each other, and Harry’s breath feels lost. He’s lost in all that blue that is Louis’ eyes. The ocean. “Fuck,” he breathes, and this time he doesn’t apologize, but instead he puts his lips on Louis’ and throughout all the water filling him, he still feels like he can breathe when he does that.

\--

Harry is the best sex Louis’ ever had. His list isn’t extensive at all, but nonetheless, he still knows it’s the best sex he’s ever had by a long shot (not that he’d ever tell Zayn that.) Harry’s just a well blended mix of everything that works. He’s rough when he snaps his hips inside of Louis but he’s gentle with his hands, caressing Louis’ thighs and ass, and face and hair and anything he can really get his hands on. And he fucks like he’s needy, but also like he’s trying to savor each and every little moment in bed with someone. Louis revels in it, and he lets it be known.

Harry’s moving in and out of Louis as Louis moans out, loud and like he’s taking advantage of having a dorm room all to himself—which he really is. Harry is looming over him, one hand caressing the side of his toned abs and the other lost somewhere in his hair. Louis keeps his legs wrapped around him and his arms holding the headboard of his bed as Harry moves at a tedious but so good pace.

Harry leans in close to him, enough where they’re not kissing but sharing the same breaths. They look at each other, and Louis whimpers.

“You sound so good, Lou,” Harry says against his lips, and Louis almost smiles until Harry angles himself a bit different and then hits his prostate just right that it makes him scream.

Harry speeds up after that, chasing his orgasm while Louis chases his own. He grabs Louis by his hips and Louis wraps a hand around his own dick while Harry pounds into him relentlessly but in a way that’s still caring, still Harry. They both come with a shout and each other’s name on their lips. Louis come squirts all over his chest and neck, and when Harry pulls out, Louis feels a bit empty but a lot better when Harry starts licking at his chest with a wink. Louis laughs and then Harry actually gets up to discard the condom and grab a towel to clean Louis up with. He always does that after sex, and then after they cuddle together, for a bit, until Louis falls asleep and Harry wakes up at six am to go to his own dorm and class.

Louis makes his way to lay his head on Harry’s chest when Harry comes back to bed and lays down on his back. Harry starts running his fingers lightly up and down Louis’ back, making Louis sleepier than good sex already makes him feel like.

“That was really good,” Louis says lazily, his eyes already falling closed.

“Hmm,” he hears as much as feels the vibrations going through Harry as he hums, “was it?”

Upon hearing that, Louis’ eye fly open. He disengages himself from Harry a bit just enough to see his face. He’s looking up at the ceiling, and Louis almost gets distracted by Harry’s beauty in the moonlight—his favorite when it ghosts across Harry’s face and features—but then he asks, “what? Did you not like it?” it comes off a bit defensive, but Louis can’t help it. He knows sometimes he reads Harry wrong, has it happen to him a bit already, but—he doesn’t think there’s any way to take that wrong.

Harry sighs and grabs Louis’ hand, intertwines their fingers, “it’s just—I know we haven’t had that much sex yet, we’re new. So like, we’ve only fucked like a handful of times but like, I don’t know. When we started this we said we didn’t want to just sleep around but when we sleep together, doesn’t it feel like that to you a bit?”

                Louis’ eyebrows come together and his forehead creases at Harry’s words, “no,” he says easily, but then he thinks, because he doesn’t want to just fight because his ego is being wounded and he’s not listening to what Harry’s actually trying to say. When he thinks about it, he sees where Harry’s coming from. But he also knows they’re new, like Harry said, so making “sweet love” or whatever, is kind of not possible yet. They haven’t even been dating for a month to say something like that.

                “I mean,” Louis sighs, and he runs a hand through Harry’s hair and Harry finally looks up at him. He’s so gorgeous, Louis knows he’s actually not that far as ridiculous as it sounds, “yeah, I kinda see what you’re saying. But Haz, we’re new. It’s normal for us to kind of—excuse my French—fuck like animals right now. Our time will come when you know, we _feel_ a bit different, and so the sex gets a bit different too. Now, if it just doesn’t feel good for you then that’s a different story.”

                Harry rolls his eyes but pulls Louis back to his chest anyways, this time grabbing his hand from where it got lost in his hair, kissing it, and Louis his hand in Louis’ hair. Louis sighs contentedly.

                “No, trust me. It’s not bad for me. I think for anyone who likes sex, sex is at least always decent even if it’s pretty bad. But either way, it’s amazing with you. You’re—you’re fucking sexy as hell, and I love the noises you make, and the way we fit, and your body—Christ,” Louis smiles against his skin, “and I love—I love having sex with you, Lou. I just, I don’t know. I guess yeah, I want it to be more already. But I know we can’t rush that. It just feels a bit wrong for it not to be, you know? Maybe we should’ve waited until we felt that way.”

                Louis knows Harry’s kidding by the tone of his voice, but he still smacks him anyways. Harry yelps and yanks at his hair lightly in return. Louis doesn’t mind, because they both know he actually likes that.

                “You’re an idiot,” Louis replies, yawning in the process.

                “Yeah,” Harry agrees, “but I’m your idiot.”

                Louis is content going to sleep having those be the last words he hears.

 

\--

                October rolls around before Louis feels it. Actually, he feels it plenty. Because exams start piling up, and the middle of the semester is always the hardest so he definitely feels the stress of that, and he starts doubling his sessions with Rachel to get the routine just right for his auditions that are just around the corner. Between perfecting his dance, having shows with his dance team, classes and exams, Louis and Harry kind of barely have time together. Harry is also really busy doing the same. He’s busy trying to keep his grades up and football practice and a lot of football games that he definitely redeems himself in. In between classes Louis sees what the school newspaper and local newspapers are saying about him. Scouts are coming out to see him, he’s shinning, he’s going to make it to the NFL without a doubt, he’s a legend. Louis always texts Harry a congratulations when he reads things like that, but he can’t ignore the sour and bitter taste it leaves in his mouth when he thinks of Harry and football. But he tries to convince himself that maybe the sooner Harry gets drafted, the sooner they’ll be able to stop all this hiding. After all, that’s the idea, mostly. Louis doesn’t really get a chance to think about it too much.

                Harry comes over whenever he can. But they don’t really get to do much but lie on Louis’ bed and talk about their days to each other. They don’t have sex in between the mess, except for a couple of lazily exchanged hand jobs and blow jobs, but actual sex is too time consuming, and Louis comes to find that the little time they do get to spend in each other’s company, he does like to spend it talking other than fucking.

                Before Louis feels like he’s absolutely prepared, the day of his audition is up. He gets a beautifully tailored ballet uniform, that’s all black and white and embroidered with sparkles, custom made from the same company who tailors their school’s dance team’s uniforms. It’s beautiful, and exactly what Louis envisioned for his routine. Well, obviously it was supposed to turn out that way. He talked about it with Zayn for hours, what he wanted it to look like, and then Zayn sketched it (because Zayn’s better than Picasso), sent it over, and Louis gave it to Rachel for Rachel to give to the company. Louis’ mostly just surprised that it works out so well.

                Zayn flies in from Doncaster, taking a break from Uni and work to be there for Louis. It’s only for two days that he’s staying, but he’s there for Louis’ audition and that means so much to him. Luckily for Louis and Harry, Harry doesn’t actually have a game the day of Louis’ performance, but he does have practice, so he’s running late when he arrives. Louis’ a bundle of nerves and shaking hands by that time. He’s been waiting around for over five hours, conversing with his competitors. Most of them are women, who’ve been doing what Louis has been doing for ten years for double that. And they all look so graceful, in their varying costumes and posh and gorgeous and Louis feels like throwing up long before he has to get on stage. It’s got a lot of envy written all over it. Because Louis knows he could never be that even in all his years of practice, all his hours spent in effort. It’s going to be hard to get the spot, but Louis wants it so bad.

                When Harry finally gets to him, they barely have time to speak. Harry’s completely out of breath clutching onto Louis’ hands as he tries to explain why he’s so late, oblivious to all the girls ogling him and Louis’ envy only rises. Because it would be easy for them, huh. Easy for them to be seen with Harry. And Harry wouldn’t pull away when he realized what he was doing in public, realized Rachel’s eyebrows almost getting lost in her hair and Zayn’s presence nearby. Louis told Harry about Zayn beforehand of course, but he still doesn’t know what he looks like, so Louis has to introduce them so Harry could stop looking so pale but also protective because well—Zayn is quite beautiful—and for Zayn to stop looking so amused with the whole thing too.

                They seem to be quite fine after introductions get out of the way, but Louis doesn’t really have time to stick around and find out whether all that’s genuine or if it’s all just for Louis’ sake. He knows he’ll have time later, but the impending thought lingering in the back of his mind is not another worry he needs right now. After only a couple of minutes of being around him, Louis has to let Harry go again. They’re not grasping on to each other, but inside Louis is clutching on to him for dear life and he doesn’t want to let him go. He tries to give that message through his eyes, because unlike Harry Louis could speak volumes like that.

Harry seems to get enough. He doesn’t touch Louis too much or anything, and Louis knows why though he wishes Harry would still kiss his forehead, pet his hair and tell him it’ll all be fine. Instead he pats down Louis’ tailored vest right over his chest, gives him a soft smile, and whispers “good luck, Lou. Break a leg,” before he’s walking off with Zayn to get their seats in time for Louis’ performance/audition. It’s an open audition, and Louis’ never been me grateful for it then in that moment. Zayn, God bless him, actually gives Louis something to physically anchor him down when he goes and wraps his arms around him for support. It’s still brief, because Zayn’s never been very touchy with affection and they don’t have much time, but it helps. Then they really go and Louis is left to go over some moves verbally with Rachel, who mentions nothing of Harry, and looks professional as ever.

                Louis sucks in a breath gulp of air, watching from the side of the stage as he watches one of the girl’s who was right before him finish up her performance. He lets it go when he hears the beat of the music slowing down, more and more, knowing his turn is almost up. Rachel puts a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up at her with pleading eyes.

                “Breathe,” she instructs calmly, and Louis wonders if that’s for him or if that’s because she’s really just done this too many times before, “you won’t be able to stay stiff and tight if you’re nervous. Your hands and legs will shake and then you’ll _really_ mess this up for yourself. Just go out there and dance the way you know how and I’m sure it’ll be enough. You know you’re amazing, don’t let a bunch of snobs with a high profile make you feel otherwise”

                Louis nods a bit frantically, but he keeps his eyes on Rachel’s because they’re a bit calming to look into. Every time Rachel speaks words of encouragement to her dancers, they go soft around the edges. Rachel’s kind of like him in that sense. Every single word can be read through her eyes, and Louis knows then that she’s meant what she’s just said, and it’s enough to get him a bit less shaky.

                He tries to bite down the nerves when the music stops and he sees the girl exit off the stage. She’s a bit sweaty and the look on her face suggests that she’s not too happy with her own performance. Louis tries not to think about how that could be him in a couple of minutes. He doesn’t have to try very hard because by the time she’s walk past him and Rachel, his name is being called out.

                Racehl nods at him, and Louis nods back, some kind of silent conversation going on about them that Louis will piece together later. He walks on stage with his whole body tight, chest and chin up, strides long and clean.

                He looks up to face the three judges sitting in a small panel. It’s two women and one man. He can tell they all used to dance, maybe still do. He doesn’t know how—maybe it’s the way they still carry that bit of grace with them that ballet dancers do, even as they sit down with their backs straight, no hunching—but he can just tell. The harsh lights of the stage obscure his vision from anyone else in the audience, so really, it only feels like it’s him and them. He tries not to gulp too loudly.

                “Louis Tomlinson,” the lady on the far right says, looking up at him through her thin framed glasses, she looks to be about Rachel’s age, “in your application to our program, it says that you’ve been dancing for ten years?” she looks from the paper on the desk, to which Louis assumes is a copy of his application, to Louis, “is that correct?”

                Louis nods strong, not letting his nerves get the best of him, Rachel’s words replaying in his mind like a broken record, “yes, ma’am. More or less.”       

                “More or less?” she raises her eyebrows at him, and Louis almost coughs out the nerves. Almost.

                “In your application it says that you’ve danced for three company’s before? But currently, you’re only enrolled in the dance program in your University, correct?” the man from the far left asks him, saving Louis from having to answer the women before. This time he gives a more direct answer.

                “Yes, sir,” he says calmly.

                “Okay, Louis,” the women in the middle speaks. She seems to be the youngest of the three. Still a bunch older than Louis, and probably a lot more experiences, but she also looks kinder than the two of them when her brown doe eyes meet with Louis’, “what will you be performing for us today?”

                “I will be performing a—um,” shit, he shouldn’t stumble on his words. He tries to make a quick recovery, “a contemporary piece with traditional ballet dance to a song titled Octahate by Ryn Weaver.”

                He tries to smile through the stammering rate of his own heart, ringing loudly in his ear. The women in the middle smiles at him and then disconnects her eyes from watching him to right something down. 

                “Okay, Mr. Tomlinson,” the women on the right speaks, “please begin,” she gestures to him with her hand and then folds them soon after. Louis nods and then he’s turning back getting ready to position himself for the beginning of his routine. The lights dim a bit, and he sees Harry and Zayn in the crowd. He can’t make much out but the green of Harry’s eyes, so prominent even from so far away. He tries to focus on that when the music starts to play, and his feet follow from muscle memory exactly how they should. Because Harry is the calm in the center of the storm for Louis now, and he feels the wind pick up speed around him and he pirouettes his way through the stage.

                All in all, Louis feels accomplished with his performance. He gets an applause from the crowd, people there for others or just to watch who are not Harry and Zayn, and “thank you’s” from all three judges—though he’s sure that’s just out of courteously. However, he just knows he did a good job, has been dancing enough to be able to tell. He was dancing completely synchronized with the beat of the song, and muscles were always held tight allowing every moment to be sharp and not messy. His bit at the ending wasn’t perfect, he knows that too. But that bit never did get perfected, and all Louis knows is that although his landing could’ve been better, objectively speaking, it was the best landing Louis had done for the performance by far.

                They go out for a congratulatory dinner with Rachel, Zayn, and Harry. It’s nice, even if Harry just acts like a friend the whole time. He does tell Louis how amazing he was, and when Louis steals glances at Harry’s face he knows Harry wants to say more. Rachel gives him roses, and tells him she’s very proud of him not matter the outcome, and Zayn gives him a big hug and kiss on the cheek. He tells Louis he’s going to brag about him to everyone back home, and Louis blushes at that. They eat, and they cheer (although no alcohol is given to Harry because he’s under twenty-one) and all in all they have a great time.

                Zayn and Louis plan a day together for the following day when they drop him off at his hotel, inviting Harry along who politely declines in favor of football practice and a bit of studying for exams.

Harry confesses to Louis that he likes Zayn when they’re making their way back to Louis’ dorm. Louis tells him he’s very happy about that.

                “He’s my best mate and like, he may not be around often but—I think it’s important you to get along,” Louis adds, making his way inside, ready to get out of his tight clothing and into the comfort of his pajamas.

                “Yeah,” Harry says behind him, locking the door quietly, “do you think he liked me?”

                Louis snorts, making his way through his own dorm to his bedroom to get out his clothes for bed, “Harry, everyone bloody likes you.”

                He feels Harry close behind him and when he looks up he’s leaning against the door frame, pensive facial expression taking over his features.

                “Hey,” Louis calls for him and Harry’s eyes slowly travel from the ground to Louis’ face, “you alright? We had a good time tonight, didn’t we?”

                Harry’s quiet for a bit before he says, “did we? Did _you_?”

                Louis doesn’t have to be a genius, or a mind reader, to know what Harry’s implying, “babe, I knew it was going to be like this when I signed up for it. It’s fine, really”

                “David would’ve brought you flowers,” Harry says under his breath, almost like he doesn’t want Louis to hear.

                Ever since Louis told Harry the truth about David, he knew things like this would happen. David and Louis weren’t exclusive or anything, but they were kind of more than just hook up buddies or something along those lines. Especially considering that David and Louis never actually hooked up. Louis had mentioned to Harry during one of their midnight talks that Louis wasn’t sure how it all happened, but somehow David and him ended up dating very extensively, but never more and never less.

Until now, until Harry, where although Louis hadn’t officially called it quits with David, he hadn’t been replying to his calls or messages or reaching out to him like he had in the past. Honestly, David was just more the guy that Louis was expected to date, expected to end up with, so he tried to make it work. David was the gay, out and proud, extremely studious English lit major and Louis was the gentle and feminine dancing star of their school. They had only met _because_ people spoke so much about them together, despite them even knowing each other. Louis had explained all that to Harry beforehand, so Harry never really got to feeling the way he seemed to be now. But obviously, it wasn’t enough.

                “Harry,” Louis says gently, making his way over, “don’t do this to yourself, okay? It’s pointless. Yeah, David might’ve been able to have brought me flowers because it was easy like that for David. But,” he puts his hand softly on the back of Harry’s neck, tip toeing to reach, “David could never make me feel the things you do. And that means a lot more, I think,” his thumb caresses at Harry’s jaw, and Louis watches as Harry shuts his eyes and breathes in a bit.

                When he opens them, Louis can’t help but smile. Because maybe they still look a bit sad, but Louis loves Harry’s eyes, and he loves when they’re looking at Louis like he’s the one thing holding Harry down on the ground. Because it’s just like that for Louis.

                “I’m still sorry that all this is shit,” Harry apologizes, a small tilt downwards to his mouth.

                Louis comes in closer, wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and stretches the muscles on his claves to reach, “it’s not all shit. You were there, and that was enough for me. And like I already told, I knew what this entailed to when we got together. I don’t regret it.” Louis feels like there are some words floating in the air around them that he’s not saying, Harry either, as they look at each other and Harry’s eyes dance from Louis’ left and right.

                He nods, subtly, before finally wrapping his arms strong and tight around Louis’ waist, bringing their bodies impossible close, “you looked beautiful dancing, by the way. I know I already told you how amazing you were but—you were just so gorgeous. And you look so gorgeous in your little suit,” he smiles against Louis’ mouth and Louis instinctively smiles back.

                “You can thank Zayn for that mostly,” Louis says, giving him a light peck, “but really, I’m dying to get out of this. Kinda itchy”

                He makes to turn away but Harry traps him in with his arms and Louis can’t deny the rush of pleasure and want that goes through his spine at that. His gaze flicks from Harry’s mouth to his eyes, as Harry keeps him right in place.

                “Don’t,” he says, his voice low and husky, “let me”

                Louis gulps, but nods, and so he lets him. Harry undresses him the same way he fucks him that night, nice and slow. And everything feels like a lot and too much and too little all the same, as Harry kisses every part of his body and then moves in and out of him at a slow and aching pace. And still, even as they fall asleep together, those unspoken words Louis felt floating around them earlier are still there.

 

\--

                Louis gets his rejection letter the same day he finds out Harry is out on a group date with someone. Someone who isn’t him. A girl. And he doesn’t know what chips away at him the most if he’s honest. When he reads the letter, shaky in his hands, and he sees the words “we are sorry to inform you have not been accepted into our program” Louis feels like his stomach hallows out. He gets his letter while he’s in the dance studio with his team and Rachel, and he has to put on a brave face for everyone when he gives them the news. Even though he’s sure they can all read through him.

                It’s not the worst rejection letter he’s ever gotten. He’s wait listed, put in a list of about fifty people who have the potential to be called up for a follow up audition if someone drops out of the program or they’re in need of more people. So, it’s not the worst thing, really. But it’s not what he wanted, and Louis wants nothing if it’s only given to him in halves. This is ironic of course, because that’s kind of exactly what he’s getting out of Harry.

                He wants nothing more than to curl into Harry’s side and sleep, and maybe even cry, for a very long time. But he gets through practice, even though all his team members keep sneaking small glances of pity at him, and telling him things like “Lou, they’ll follow up with you. I know it.” They know nothing, and Louis hates pity. The only person who doesn’t try to console him is Rachel. She treats him no different. He’s obviously a bit despondent and thrown off by the news, so his dance is off, and she yells and scolds him for it like she would any other day. But Louis doesn’t take it to the heart, because his heart really, really, isn’t in it. He texts Harry as soon as he’s out, telling him that he wants to see him as soon as Harry’s available. At first, Louis doesn’t think too much about it when Harry doesn’t reply for the first hour. Louis knows sometimes practices and classes, even study sessions, run late, but. Then when the second hour rolls around and Harry hasn’t even send Louis a little warning ‘I’m going to be late, babe’ text, he kind of starts to wonder a bit. He texts him, and calls him, but there’s no reply.

                Louis tries not to get angry. He knows Harry can’t always be at his beck and call, so instead he just lays down in bed, feeling too tired to even get up and shower. And that’s how he sees it. As he lies down in bed, belly up, he opens up his Instagram and it’s the first photo on his feed. It’s almost like the universe is mocking him, making sure he jots the date down for the worst day of his existence.

                It’s funny to Louis, if just because he’s sad, how it’s such a small world he gets to see things like this. He doesn’t even know the girl personally. He thinks her name is Jennifer, or Jenny, or something that starts with a “J,” but he doesn’t know her well enough to have ever had more than a brief conversation with her. But being the best dancer in his University has it’s perks—like having a lot of random followers on instagram, and in return, Louis just follows a lot back. Guess it kind of bit him in the ass.

                She’s holding his face with her hands in the picture, and they’re so small they barely get a hold of it. She’s smiling as her face is turned to stare at him from his profile all dreamy-like and Harry’s looking into the camera, forming his mouth into a little ‘o.’ His eyes are wide, and the camera catches every speckle of honey mixed in with his green that Louis loves, and thinks is now probably going to have to hate. She puts a tacky filter on it that really adds nothing, and captions it ‘little date with @UCLA’s greatest quarterback’ with a football emoji, a heart eye emoji, and a kissing emoji that almost makes Louis throw up. Louis only finds out it’s a group date when he clicks on her profile—to hurt him a bit more, maybe, because she’s beautiful and she could have Harry easily if she wanted—and then sees a picture of the group of them. There’s Niall Horan with some girl he doesn’t know, and Liam Payne (Danielle’s ex) with his new girlfriend, and two other couples Louis doesn’t really recognize or know by name. It doesn’t matter though. He knows his eyes are mostly focused on Jenny-Jennifer-whatever her fucking name is, and the way her arm is draped around Harry and their heads are tilted to each other as they make over exaggerated duck faces at whoever is taking their picture.

                Unlike the pain Louis felt when he opened his rejection letter, the pain Louis feels from looking at the pictures, knowing why Harry’s ignoring him is stinging. It stings everywhere, and it makes his chest feel like it’s dropping, it’s hiding, it’s leaving him. It feels a lot like how it feels to be angry, but Louis knows he’s not. He’s not angry. But boy is he fucking hurt.

                He likes both her pictures. Mostly because she hopes she notices, cares enough to comment and he hopes Harry knows he knows. But also because Louis likes to hurt himself apparently by indulging his own pain.

                He locks his phone, throws it somewhere underneath his bed in case she does tell the table at large, or mentions it to somebody and Harry hears and decides to call him. He doesn’t want to talk to him anymore. Instead he gets up from the bed and goes into his bathroom. It’s all in a rush, a blur as tears start to swell rapidly in his eyes. He gets his razor, looks himself in the mirror his reflection staring back at him. He hates what he sees, the little bit of stubble growing under his chin and quickly, without any kind of preparation, brings him razor up to his face. The sting is equivalent to the one he feels inside.

\--

 

                Harry is agitated and worried, and so, so fucking nervous his hands can’t keep still. He keeps pacing outside of Louis’ door, knocking every minute or so just because he’s still not sure whether Louis is really in there or not ignoring him, or he really went out. He has no way to know, seeing as he’s been trying to get to Louis for three hours to no avail. People keep passing by too, going out and coming up, and they keep giving Harry weird looks. He smiles at all of them and waves, thinking maybe that’ll help the situation, but he knows it won’t. His anxiety is climbing levels of ridiculous high, but every time Harry sends out a message or calls, there’s no reply. He’s thought of pounding on Louis’ door, but then that would definitely make a scene, and that’s the last thing Harry wants.

                God, it’s just—fuck, he knows he messed up. He knew it the moment he even let everything get to him and he agreed to go on that quadruple—whatever it was. Harry refuses to acknowledge as a date, although he knows everyone else will, because Harry doesn’t even want to date her. Not that Jenny isn’t a lovely girl, but he only has eyes, and a heart, for Louis. And it’s just—he knows he should’ve told Louis, but he didn’t know how. He was too much of a coward to mention it and now that he knows Louis saw it, there’s no taking it back. He felt his whole fucking world start to come apart when Jenny leaned in against him and told him, all delightedly because of course she has no fucking clue, that Louis had liked their picture. That’s when Harry knew things would be all messed up. He wanted to get out of there that very instant, but they hadn’t even gotten their food, and he had no real excuse to just go. So, he had to wait it out. But it’s the worst wait he’s ever endured. Even worse than the wait he’s enduring now.

                Harry leans his arm to rest on Louis’ door, using his other hand to come up and knock lightly again. He’s about to pull his phone out of his pocket again and call, when he hears the doors from the staircase open and familiar voices flood through. He picks his head up instantly at the sound of Louis’ voice, his heart picking up speed. But when he turns around, sees Louis coming towards him with David by his side, it’s almost like he goes blind. He feels cold all over, his jaw tightening along with his hands.

                David seems oblivious as he walks by Louis’ side, but Harry knows Louis’ noticed him. He’s looking right at him. His jaw is squared and his chin is held up in something like a challenge, and Harry knows he’s messed everything up, he does—but the magnitude of his consequences never seemed even this bad in his mind. Louis doesn’t even really look hurt, though Harry’s not stupid enough to think Louis isn’t. But more than anything he looks furious, made of burning red flames.

                Harry stands up straight, eyes on Louis. Either of them refusing to look away. It’s when Louis is up close that he sees a cut along his jaw line, where his neck meets his jaw.  He thinks it’s the cut of razor, and Louis probably cut himself shaving. But Harry saw Louis only two days ago and it didn’t seem like he needed to shave, and the cut looks deeper than just an accidental shaving cut. Harry’s anger spills a little as worry takes over.

                When they’re finally at Louis’ door, David is the one to talk. He has on his stupid signature flannels with his stupid hipster glasses as he says, very amicably, “hey, dude. How are you?”

                “Fine,” Harry snips, directing his gaze only for a second before landing his eyes back on Louis’. He knows he’s being cold, and maybe even rude, but honestly right now Harry could care less about manners.

                “I’ve been calling you. And texting you,” Harry tells Louis, eyes locked on his. He doesn’t need to add the _where were you?_ To know Louis gets it.

                “Don’t have my phone on me,” Louis answers nonchalant, and his voice holds a tone Harry’s never heard before. It runs a shiver through him.

                David looks in between them a bit awkwardly, Harry can see it from his peripheral. And if he weren’t so angry, and jealous, and hurt, and fucking irritated maybe he would mind his behavior because he’s sure he knows what it looks like. But he’s all those things together and the last thing on his mind is whatever David is thinking. He just wants to talk to Louis. Needs to.

                “Um,” David coughs, and Louis turns to look at him. His jaw gets a bit more relaxed when he does and the burning inside Harry builds to an unimaginable flame. He curls both hands into fists behind his back, his short nails digging into his palm.

                “I guess I should go?” he poses it as a question and Harry wants to answer it and tell him he really should. But Louis nods, even if it’s short.

                “Yeah, RA duties,” he replies, smiling even if it doesn’t reach his eyes and that makes Harry turn away. He can’t take it.

                He hears them exchange their goodbyes, hears David press a smacking kiss to Louis’ forehead asking him to text him soon. Harry wishes in the moment he could shut off his ears.

                “See ya around, man. And good stuff out there. I write for the paper and you’re always front page news,” David smiles at Harry and Harry tips his chin up at him in thanks with a tight smile because that’s all he can manage without being too giving of his sudden strong dislike for him.

                David hands Louis a bag Harry didn’t even realize he was holding and leaves after that. Louis and Harry stand staring each other down, so it seems—and Harry really hates that—for what feels like a couple of minutes. At first Harry’s not sure whether Louis’ even going to give him the chance to explain himself, and is just going to demand Harry move so he could get inside his dorm and shut the door in his face. He’s about to beg, because he hate all the tension circling them, the anger too, but then Louis just shoves past him and opens his door without a word. He leaves it open though, and Harry thanks whoever’s out there listening to him.

                He shuts the door quietly like he always does, though he does have a sudden urge to throw something just to air out some of the anger boiling inside him. Louis doesn’t take a seat where he usually would if they were in this awkward predicament. Instead, when Harry turns around he finds Louis just standing about, arms crossed over his chest and chin titled upwards again challengingly. And Harry knows this is different, it’s all fucked.

                He sighs, “Louis, just—let me explain.”

                Louis laughs without humor, loud and extremely over the top and Harry knows it’s meant to get under his skin, so he hates that it does.

                “You don’t need to explain anything to me, Harry. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Though, I am your RA. So, if you have ‘feelings’” he air quotes, “to talk about. Go ahead. But just so you know in advance, I think you two make a lovely couple and I hope it works out for you.”

                Harry shuts his eyes for a moment and counts to three in his head. He knows he’s messed up, and he knows that he deserves Louis being angry with him but he hates this sarcasm radiating off Louis as a defense mechanism. It makes it hard to get through to him and that’s all Harry wants. It’s the only way to handle it and fix it. And Harry wishes Louis could just let go of his pride a bit and do that. For them.

                “Louis, please. You know I’m not here for that,” he opens his eyes and looks up, Louis’ still building walls around him, “I know I messed up, okay? I should’ve—I should’ve told you about it. But like, people were starting to catch on to something. I don’t sleep in my dorm, ever, Louis. Maybe like once or twice a week. Obviously I’m seeing someone, or—I don’t know. It’s getting harder to hide. And then like, Josh was saying how I have all these girls but I don’t want to date any of them? And like, I don’t know I know it was already starting to get to be an idea in their head that maybe I liked guys—”

                “And so what if they did, Harry?” Louis yells over him, bringing him into silence. “What’s the big fucking deal?”

                Harry grips on to his patience, “you know why it’s a bit deal, Louis. Don’t act like you don’t. You knew this when you wanted to start this with me, when you chose to be with me”

                “Ha,” Louis goes on sarcastically, “be with you, funny that, huh.”

                Harry furrows his eyebrows, takes a step forward, “don’t start with that, you know we’re together. Which is why I have no idea why the fuck you were out with David—”

                “Oh!” Louis interrupts again, “now you’re going to flip the tables on me? You’re the one who was on a _fucking date”_

“That wasn’t real!” Harry yells, and he hates yelling, he does. He doesn’t even have the right vocal chords for it, he thinks. But he’s lost his patience, feels himself floating down to the bottom.

                “I don’t even fucking _know_ her, and even if I did, you should know it’s not like that. Because it’s never been like that, and it has no reason to start being like that now. But are you forgetting that you and David have _history_?” he gestures with his hand in thin air, “like a long extensive list of it and the whole fucking school thinks you guys are the cutest couple to walk this fucking planet—”    

                “Fuck off!” Louis yells and then he’s reaching in for the bag David gave him, “he took me to get some ointment for my fucking face, dumbass. Because I cut myself shaving and—”

                It’s Harry’s turn to interrupt, “why were you even shaving?”

                Harry doesn’t miss the way Louis snaps his mouth shut at that. Everything up until that point has been a back and forth, no awkward pauses in between. So Harry knows he’s thinking about what to say, and he knows Louis well enough to know that whenever he does that, it’s because he’s lying. He knows this before Louis replies with, “because I needed to. Why do you shave?”

                He tries to deflect the attention with attitude, but Harry sees right through it. He takes another step forward.

                “No, you didn’t. You grow facial hair but not that fast or enough where you would have had to shave so fiercely since the last two days I saw you,” he looks at Louis curiously, and then a bit more hard, “were you _trying_ to hurt yourself?”       

                At that, Louis looks genuinely offended, “what the fuck? No!” and Harry knows he’s not lying, but he’s still confused and definitely knows there’s more to it then Louis is letting on.

                “Then why the hell were you shaving so hard that you cut your face?” Harry presses.

                “Because,” and then Louis stammers, and then he glares, and then he explodes, “so that I could fucking _have_ you, Harry! That’s why, I don’t know.”

                Harry’s confused, lets his face show it, “you _have_ me, Louis. What are you on about?”

                Harry sees it before he sees Louis’ eyes get a bit wet, sees it even more when Louis’ voice is shaky and he stumbles over his words, “I don’t have you, Harry. I can’t because—well—fuck I can be the most feminine fucking guy—I could. I could have no fucking facial hair, I could have the best ass, I could—but I’ll never. I’m not a fucking girl!” and then the walls crumble like they were never there, “I’m not a girl,” he whispers and then he’s turning away, shaking his head and pacing to his room.

                Harry doesn’t like to himself and pretend he understands what the big deal with it. Harry loves that Louis’ not a girl, really, just as much as he loves the feminine sides to him. But that doesn’t matter. It matters that Louis is moving away from him, sad and hurt in ways Harry doesn’t understand. So he goes after him and he grabs onto his arm fiercely, although Louis tugs back, trying to get away with a hand over his face so Harry won’t see he’s crying. He doesn’t need to see his face to know it though. He pulls Louis close to his chest and holds him, running a hand through his hair to calm him. Louis lets himself sob on Harry’s chest and Harry coos to him that’s fine, that’s okay, he has him, though he thinks this isn’t only about that.

                Louis shakes his head where it’s buried in Harry’s chest, lifts it only enough to say, “I don’t, Harry. And I can’t.”

                He tries to push away but Harry holds him tight, doesn’t let him go, “no. Louis, listen, please. You don’t understand just how much you have me.”

                Louis shakes his head, and Harry feels it swell in his chest. He feels everything at once. This boy who’s sad in his arms who he never wants to be sad. Whether it’s because of him or someone or something else. He always wants him to be happy. He always wants to be with him, always wants to keep him safe and healthy and good.

                “I’m in love with you,” he says, and it sounds like nothing in the quietness of the room, because it’s not that Harry couldn’t feel it before he said it, but it still feels weird on his tongue. He’s never been in love before, but he knows this is it. He repeats it, “I’m in love with you. I love you.”

                At that, Louis looks up at him, his face blotchy and wet with tears. His eyes are red rimmed but still so blue, and Harry kind of feels like he can breathe again as Louis looks up at him with a bit of a shocked expression. He doesn’t waste his time, he dives in. He kisses him, sweet and slow and he whispers against his lips when they pull back for some air, “I’m in love with you.”

                Louis doesn’t say it back, but Harry thinks that’s mostly because he doesn’t know where his head is. And even then, Harry doesn’t say it for a reply. He says it because it’s true, and he needs Louis to know that. They fall back on the bed easily, kissing sloppily and slow and everything is slow but eager as they undress. He eats Louis out while Louis squirms all over the bed, fisting Harry’s hair in his hand, pushing him further in. Harry doesn’t waste too much time opening him up with his fingers, so he’s sure he’s ready for his dick. By the time they roll the condom on, Harry’s hard and leaking pre-cum and so is Louis.

                Louis flips them over, silently telling Harry he wants to ride him. So, Harry lets him of course. Holds on to Louis’ hips as Louis sinks down and then starts swaying them back and forth, soliciting noises out of Harry little by little. Harry wraps his hand around Louis’ dick as Louis comes down to touch their lips, lose his fingers in Harry’s hair. They breathe the same air and everything feels so, so good as Harry uses his free hand to open up Louis’ ass cheeks, but everything also feels a lot like what Harry had wanted when they first started sleeping together. But he thinks it’s not the first time they’ve done it like this, and he smiles against Louis’ mouth at the thought when he snaps his hips up and Louis’ forehead comes to rest against his own.

                “I love you,” he repeats, snapping his hips up again. Louis whimpers.

                “Mine,” he says, panting as their movements pick up speed.

                “Yours,” Harry confirms, holding him to his chest so Louis’ dick could rub against his stomach while he pounds relentlessly up into him. Harry comes with a shout and Louis comes with a loud cry and biting down on Harry’s shoulder  that he’s sure is going to bruise. Whatever. He loves this boy.

                When Harry extracts himself from Louis and cleans them both up, he lays down with him, the way they always do. He’s dozing off, exhausted, and still knowing there are things they need to talk about, things he needs to make right. It’s quiet all around them, and Harry’s almost out, but he doesn’t miss the way Louis clings to his back, says in his neck, “I’m so in love with you. I’m terrified.”

                He clutches on to Louis’ hand over his chest to let him know he heard him. And he understands.

\--

                By the time winter rolls around, Louis is more than ready for finals to be over. He gets an entire month off of school, and he gets to go home to spend the holidays with his family who he rarely ever gets to spend time with. This vacation is a bit more special because he’s going home with Harry. Well—not _with_ him. But they’re traveling together and they haven’t quite planned the specifics out or anything, but Louis’ sure he’ll be spending time with him anyways. They came to realize that their hometowns aren’t actually as far away as they had thought, so it’s more than possible. Louis hasn’t mentioned it to Harry yet, a bit scared of his reaction, but he plans on asking Harry to meet his family. His family knows he’s seeing someone, but that’s it’s complicated. However, as complicated as it may be, it’s his family. Louis can trust them, and in return, Harry should too. And besides all that, they live so far away, it can’t even really matter what they know.

                After they said their “I love you’s” to each other things got better. Of course they’re not perfect, and not every issue they had or have had since has been magically resolved because of it. Neither of them are naïve enough to think that just because they love each other things will work out fine. If anything, it makes things a bit heavier on the emotional spectrum. Because it feels like they’re all in now.

                Harry keeps seeing different girls. Nothing ever happens and it’s never a one on one thing. But he makes a name for himself around campus that has nothing to do with football and a lot to do with his reputation with the girls. He becomes a bit of a heartbreaker, a lothario. Louis eventually comes to peace with it, because he loves Harry and he trusts that Harry loves him too. He knows he hates doing it, but is doing it to be able to continue to be with Louis. So, Louis understands, and he no longer gets extremely angry or spiteful when he hears people talking about it, sees picture of Harry with other girls on his Instagram feed. It doesn’t mean he still doesn’t feel bitter about it, or even hurt. He’s only human, and as rational as it is for him to understand that it’s just something Harry has to do so people stay away from speculating his sexuality, it still stings and he still has feelings that override the border of rationality. Sometimes Louis wonders if that’s all it’s ever going to be. He never tells Harry that, never tells Harry how he can imagine Harry getting signed, then having to hold someone else’s hand and kiss someone else’s lips in public in order to keep Louis. He doesn’t tell him that he thinks it’s going to get worse, if they make it that far. And he hasn’t told him that despite all that, he really is trying to make it that far with him.

                They don’t talk about Louis’ breakdown either. Harry doesn’t ask again, and Louis doesn’t tell. The only thing he does tell is his rejection into the program he wanted to get into, that Harry helps him through a lot with his never wavering support. But there are some issues that he should just keep to himself, are too personal, too much engraved in his own skin to be able to ever get outside help anyways. Even if he was willing to talk about.

                He’s just come out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist when he decides it’s a good time to maybe bring up the whole Harry meeting his family thing. Harry’s on Louis’ bed, laying down on his stomach and reading off his bio textbook. It’s the last week of finals, and they’re almost in the clear.

                Louis pads into the room quietly, ruffling up his hair with a small towel and reaching in to his drawer for his shaving cream. He sees Harry eyeing it a bit, but no one says anything and that’s all Louis can really ask for.

                “So,” he says, conversationally, “I was thinking.”

                He lets his sentence hang in the air as he pops open his shaving cream, starts to spread it all across his cheeks, jaw line and around his lips with his hands.

                “You were thinking?” Harry echoes from his place on Louis’ bed.

                Louis grabs for his razor, “I was thinking maybe, like, you could come and meet my family over break? I know we haven’t really talked about when we’re going to see each other and all that but,” he starts shaving, his speech muffling a bit as he stiffens his mouth around the blade, “I figured we’ve got a month off. We can make it happen sometime then.”

                It’s quiet around them for a bit, only the noise of Louis shaving his face clean going around them. Harry stays that way, all silent, until Louis is just done shaving, drying his face with the towel he was using to dry his hair earlier.

                He turns then, looks at Harry with a small smile on his lips. Harry’s really just staring, watching Louis, and it’s always hard to tell what Harry’s thinking just by looking at his eyes, but this time Louis feels like there’s nothing but a blank there. Eventually Harry rolls off his stomach and makes to sit at the edge of the bed. He runs a finger through his long hair, slicking a bit more back than favoring one side.

                “Um,” he speaks, his voice a bit croaky, “is that like—is that something you really want?”

                He looks at Louis a bit shyly, and Louis just looks at him.

                “I don’t know, Haz. Yeah, I guess,” he says honestly, because it may not be the biggest deal to him, but it would be nice to have someone in Louis’ life that’s a lot of importance to him (besides Zayn) to know about Harry, “is it really like, a big deal? You know my mom like—obviously she’ll understand if I explain. And even then, she lives so far away, Haz, I don’t see how it could matter indefinitely.”

                Harry’s not really looking at him, instead opting to play with the rings on his fingers, “no, yeah. I mean, she’s your mom like—you trust her, and I trust you”

                Louis smiles fondly at that, “exactly,” he walks towards Harry and fits himself in between his legs, cupping his jaw in his hands so he can look up at him, “she would never do anything to hurt me, and she knows that hurting you would probably hurt me the most.”

                Harry’s hand comes around to stop at Louis’ waist, clutching on there as he smiles at Louis, understanding the implication of his words. But still, Louis can tell something’s off, something’s wrong. Because Harry doesn’t wrap his arms around him, he doesn’t kiss him or touch him like he would if things were truly okay.

                “I know,” he says, and Louis’ sure things are missing there, “it’s not really about that. It’s just kind of like—a big commitment?”

                Louis raises his eyebrows in question, “as oppose to basically living in each other’s pockets? Saying ‘I love you’? Talking about our future?”

                Harry blushes a bit and Louis tries to control the beating of his heart when he thinks about all that. They haven’t been in each other’s lives for too long. Dating for maybe only two months, but things feel steady with them even with the chaos that surrounds their relationship. Louis can tell they’re in it for the long haul and he wishes he could explain why, could explain why everything was just so instant, and why everything just makes sense. But they’re it for each other. Louis never really believed that existed until Harry came around. But now he does, which is why he puts up with it—all of it. The hiding, the girls, the fake dates, the rumors. Because it’s worth it to him when they lay down together at night, whisper their “I love you’s” and talk about later. It’s worth it when Harry tells him where they’ll live, how many kids they’ll have. Because it gives hope to a better future, and it makes Louis know that he’s not in this long term by himself. They’re both looking to be together for far longer than people their age usually date for.

                “Yeah, you’re right,” Harry says, smiling a bit more genuinely and changing his head.

                “But?” Louis doesn’t miss it’s absence.

                “But I just,” Harry sighs, clutches onto Louis’ sides a bit harder, “you can’t meet my family, Lou. And it’s not because like they don’t know about me or whatever, and definitely not because I don’t want them to know about you. But more like—my mom already hates that I’m hiding. And she’s going to pressure me even more if she figures I’m hiding you,” Louis nods, though he does feel a bit disappointed. Louis gets it. “So, I don’t know. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re giving me more than I’m giving you.”

                Louis doesn’t, is the thing. He gets that their situations are completely different. In Louis’ life, being gay doesn’t really affect much. I mean, obviously he dealt with some name calling and bullying when he was younger, but being in the dancing environment, being involved in ballet, it really helped him through that. In that community, nobody cared whether he liked girls or boys. They just cared that he could dance. It’s different for Harry. In a sport predominantly filled with straight males, he could see how being the gay one could definitely singles him out.

                He sits down on Harry’s lap, and instantly Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder while Louis plays with Harry’s fingers on his lap.

                “I don’t, babe. I get it, trust me. It’ll happen eventually, right? There’s no rush. We’ve got time”

                He feels Harry nod slightly against his shoulder, grab Louis’ hand and intertwine their fingers.

                “Forever is a long time, isn’t it?”

                Louis tries to pretend his heart doesn’t do summersaults. Instead he pushes Harry back and starts tickling him like a mad man. It’s all fits and giggles until Louis’ towel falls down from around his waist. And then Harry’s sucking him off, and Louis thinks he could definitely deal with what they have forever.

 

\--

                Christmas back in Doncaster is Louis’ own personal winter wonderland (minus the snow, of course.) He gets to celebrate such a warm and loving holiday _and_ his birthday with his family and childhood friends—people who have known him for so long and supported him through so much. He gets to visit his old dance studio, too. And it all just feels different from everything back in LA. He feels like he’s entirely himself, entirely at ease, and so out and open. He thinks he forgot how that felt like a bit with all the hiding he’s had to do back home in the last couple of months. He tries not to think about how much better it feels, how much he prefers it.

                He doesn’t really get to see Harry for the first couple of weeks that he’s back home. Harry is busy enjoying life at home with his family too. They skype though, and text every day, and have late night phone conversations until they fall asleep so as much as Louis misses him, it does help with the distance between them. Louis almost starts to think Harry’s never going to show though like they said he would. It puts Louis in a bit of a sour mood after Christmas, because as nervous as he suspects Harry to be, they had agreed on it and Louis had even told his mom about it. He intends to let his feeling be known a couple of nights before New Year’s Eve during their daily late night phone calls, but it turns out he doesn’t have to.

                “So, I spoke to my mom,” Harry starts after they’ve said their hello’s, “and I told her I would be spending the New Years with some friends from back home that live here until like, a couple of days I have to go back.”

                Louis knows what he’s saying, can feel the way his heart picks up speed. He smiles manically though he knows no one can see him, “really?”

                “Really,” Harry breathes, a bit of a laugh in his voice.

                Louis laughs out loud, unable to control the joy he feels, “that’s—wow. That’s awesome”

                Harry snorts a bit, “well, it’s not like we hadn’t talked about it, right?”

                Right. But Louis was honestly starting to think Harry would flake on him. He ignores that though, and instead asks, “so, for how long are you staying, exactly?”

                “Four nights, I’ve planned. But only if that’s okay. And only if I can stay at your house for all those days. Unfortunately I don’t have the cash to rent or anything.”

                Louis jumps right into it right as Harry finishes speaking, “of course it’s okay! It’s more than okay, it’s—you’ve got no idea how happy you’ve made me.”

                Louis can’t see him, but he knows Harry’s smiling on the other line when he replies, “if it’s a fraction of how happy you make me, I think I’ve got an idea.”

                The day of Harry’s arrival is a frantic one. As much as Louis wants his family to like Harry, he also wants Harry to like his family. A house filled with estrogen can be a bit much sometimes, he knows. His mom bakes snacks from them with the help of the twins, and for the most part, Lottie and Fizzy seem to be willing to not give Harry totally useless teenage attitude. Doris and Ernie are too old to really do much but poop in their papers and cry when they’re hungry, so he skips on giving them a lecture on how to be on their best behavior for Harry.

                “Louis, darling,” Jay says as she ices the cookies in the shapes of gingerbread men she made with the twins, “relax. Jesus, you’re making me nervous.”

                Louis takes a cookie from the tray and nibbles at it.

                “Hey!” Phoebe screams.

                “Those are for later,” Daisy scolds.

                “It’s not even iced,” they say together.

                Louis ignores them with a roll of his eyes.

                “This is important, mom. Like, I really want you guys to like each other. No one is temporary here, unfortunately.”

                Jay doesn’t say anything about that, though Louis is sure she gets what he’s implying. Instead she hums, “it’ll be fine, Lou.”

                Louis definitely hopes so. He goes around the house one more time making sure everything’s picked up and neat and in order. Louis knows Harry’s seen the way Louis lives—clothes thrown everywhere and just disorder all about. But Louis is a college student, and ridiculously outstanding in every other quality. It’s different too, it’s just a college dorm. But this is house, his family’s house. He doesn’t want to give off the impression that they’re all a bunch of slobs. Not that his family is it’s just—Jay and Dan work, and there’s like seven people living in one house. It’s bound to get messy.

                He’s just fluffing his pillows (just to get his hands on something to calm him down) when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He knows it’s Harry and he knows it’s time. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, before he yells out to the entire house, “he’s here!”

                Daisy and Phoebe peek their heads from out of the kitchen, “where?”

                “Yeah, I don’t see anybody,” Daisy says, wrinkling her nose as she looks around.

                Louis sighs, “I have to let him in, obviously. I’m just warning you.”

                They both nod and Louis smiles back fondly. Then he straightens out his shirt, grabs his jacket from the coat hanger, and goes on outside to greet him. Inside a very old, vintage looking car, is Harry. He’s parked in the empty space of their drive way, and he looks absolutely adorable with a beanie hiding most of his hair (except for the long bits that peek out anyways around and down his neck.) Louis’ heart lurches into his throat at the sight of him when he gets down from the car, all long legs and broad shoulders. It’s only been two weeks since he last saw him, but oddly enough, it’s the longest they’ve actually spent apart since they started dating.

                Harry walks up Louis’ drive way to him in a slow, aching pace, and Louis can tell Harry is nervous with the way his hands clutch onto the strap of his duffle, knuckles going white.

                The first thing Louis does when Harry’s finally right in front of him is reach his arms around his neck and kiss him. He feels Harry tense a bit under him when he pulls away, and Louis imagines that it must be because it’s the first time they’ve kissed outside the comfort of Louis’ dorm. Louis can’t say it doesn’t feel liberating.

                He smiles up at him, taking his free hand in his and squeezing, “hey,” he says soothingly, “alright?”

                He sees Harry swallow, looking at Louis and nodding a bit. Louis keeps smiling.

                “I’m nervous,” Louis admits, hoping that maybe that way it’ll help calm Harry. He could feel the pulse of his heart as he holds onto his hand.

                Harry lets out a breath he was probably holding, “so am I.”

                “Don’t be,” Louis says, tip toeing to kiss Harry’s cheek this time, “you’re too charming for anyone’s own good.”

                That seems to do the trick. A slow warm smile spreads across Harry’s face, his dimples peeking through. And everything feels more like home in that moment.

                He takes Harry’s hand in his, intertwines their fingers the exact way he knows how, has done so many times before. But it feels a bit different out in the open, even if no one is really around to see them. It’s just nice that they’re not looking over their shoulders worried that someone is.

                They walk towards Louis’ door like that, hand in hand. Louis gives Harry a little nod before opening the door, smiling back at him with a soft expression. Harry smiles back, squeezes his hand for reassurance, and then they’re walking in. The moment they do, Louis’ family is pouncing on them—the exact way Louis told them not to do. More than not, it’s really just Phoebe and Daisy but they were his biggest concerns. They both latch onto Harry’s legs, pushing Louis aside immediately. He watches on in terror, grunting and dreading the moment that he’s sure comes after. Too late for him to even try and stop the damage already being done. He waits for the moment where Harry gets immediately freaked out and tells Louis he just can’t do it, and then leaves. Harry, of course, doesn’t react even a bit like Louis worried he would. Instead, he beams and he looks ten times more comfortable than he did outside in their driveway. He reaches down to the girl’s eye level and speaks to them in the friendliest tone Louis’ ever seen him use—but yet it sounds genuine, so much like himself. And his hands visibly relax, letting go of his duffle immediately as he takes in one hand Phoebe’s thin brain that she gloats about doing herself, and pulls with the other lightly on Daisy’s tie dye skirt that she brags about just having gotten. The girls taking a liking to him immediately too, blushing and smiling and looking at Harry in complete awe. Louis can definitely relate to that. He thinks he’s looked at Harry like that since the moment he met him.

                He catches Jay’s eyes in the whirlwind, who’s standing right behind the girls waiting for their own introductions to be done. She looks happy, genuinely impressed that Harry’s managed to deal with the girls so well so soon, and she gives him a smile. His mother’s smile is like anything else. It only tells truth, and in her smile Louis thinks there’s hope that maybe everything will go exactly the way he wants it to. It all seems to be adding up, especially when Harry stands, goes a bit pale at the sight of Jay, and then slowly starts to gain color back in his face when Jay pulls him straight into a hug. Louis can’t even pretend to be annoyed that Harry’s won them over so quickly.

 

\--

 

                It turns out Louis was definitely not lying when he told Harry he was too charming for anyone’s own good. Not that Louis was technically telling fibs, but he never thought his family would actually end up liking Harry more than they like him. Only twenty-four hours in, and Louis could see in his family’s face probably the same thing the rest of the world could see in his (if they were paying close enough attention) when they looked at Harry. They were falling in love with him.

                He could tell by the way Dan called Harry aside, talked extensive sports with him in extreme delight and lost himself in the conversation. It was obvious in the way the twins kept trying to invade every inch of personal space Harry had. They clung to him, tugged at him, and even begged to braid his hair (which actually worked.) Lottie and Fizzy were enamored too.  Fizzy kept trying to show Harry her music style, and Lottie actually couldn’t stop gushing over how perfect Harry was.

                “He is so fucking hot. And sweet. How did he end up with you?” she gave Louis the kind of disgusted look Louis imagined every girl in the entire world if they knew the same she did. But she’s his sister, and Louis knew she was mostly kidding. So, all Louis had done was cover her entire face with his hand while she protested and whispered in her ear, “he’s also _fantastic_ in bed.” It had pretty much done the trick to get her to never make comments like that again.

                But the most important person of all, who Louis would’ve never guessed would approve so much and so fast, was Jay. She spoke to Harry in the kind of voice and with the kind of kindness Louis only ever saw her use with her own children. At first, Louis wasn’t sure whether she was just being polite or not, trying for the sake of Louis. But then he saw the way she loved having Harry help her with dinner, and baking snacks. And he saw the way she let Harry carry Ernie and Dorris—something she was even wary of letting Louis do. It was when he walked into their nursery to see Harry holding Ernie, as Jay held Dorris, telling a story about days after they were born, that he saw it. And he just knew it had nothing to do with him anymore. Maybe it had started that way, but the rest had happened all on its own. Louis doesn’t think he could ever describe the feeling of relief, and gratitude, and pure joy as he stood there outside the nursery, his presence unknown, as he watched them interact easily.

                He tells Harry as much that night, right after they’ve both settled in Louis’ childhood bedroom.

                “My family loves you,” he belly flops on the bed right next to an exhausted Harry, already dozing off with only minutes of laying down, “I think they definitely like you more than me.”

                Harry snorts, and uses his free hand to find Louis’. “I don’t think so,” the tiredness evident through his voice, “as charming as I am, you’re still their blood. And also, you’re pretty fucking great.”

                Louis blushes though Harry’s eyes are still closed, and he climbs up to straddle him, pecker his face with kisses until Harry’s laughing and forced to open his eyes.

                Louis takes his faces in his hands, kisses him slowly as Harry brings a hand up to grab Louis’ neck. And they stay like that until Louis pulls away enough to whisper against Harry’s lips, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

                He hears his response in the beat of his heart, against his own chest, before Harry says, “so am I.”

                The rest is pretty much history. The four days Harry stays over are probably the best four days of Louis’ entire vacation. It’s probably because he has everyone around him who he truly loves in one place. They go to the park with Phoebe and Daisy, and watch late night movies with his mom and Dan when everyone else is asleep. They take morning runs together, which Harry definitely beats Louis at, and they talk trips around the town with Lottie and Fizzy that Louis says is because they’re their more often, and therefore know the place better. Which is a complete lie that they can all probably see through but don’t call him out on because they don’t mind it either, no matter how much teenage attitude Lottie and Fizzy are going through. They feed and nap Ernie and Dorris, and Louis can kind of see himself doing the exact same thing in ten years when he looks across from him and sees Harry. When Harry looks up back at him and smiles, dimples out, eye greener than anything Louis’ ever seen, he thinks he’s not the only one who can picture it.

                The only day Louis gets a bit worried is on the third day, right before Harry and him are scheduled to go later that night to Zayn’s for a NYE’s party. Louis is outside in their patio playing around in the small jungle gym when he becomes exhausted and goes inside for water. When he walks in, Harry and Jay are in the kitchen. Jay is in the sink rinsing her hands and Harry’s a good distance away with his back leaned onto the counter, shoulders a bit slumped and arms crosses over his chest. And Louis would think nothing of it—knowing that Harry’s helping Jay prepare NYE’s dinner—but the silence that looms over them is unnatural and awkward. And neither of them turn to look at Louis. Louis stops immediately in his tracks.

                “Is everything alright?” he asks cautiously, worried that if maybe his voice is too hard the whole thing will break apart from right under him.

                “’Course, dear,” his mom answers easily, no beat in between, “Harry was just telling me about football and all that,” she turns then, looking Louis straight in the eye, “nothing to get so worked over”

                Louis feels better after, but not entirely convinced. For all that Jay is his mom, he knows she would lie just to keep his happiness. And she’s a mother of six now, she’s become good at lying convincingly for her children. So he looks over to Harry, who’s already away from the counter and reaching into the fridge to hand Louis some water bottles. His heart hurts a bit at how well he already knows him.

                “You know how it is,” he hands them to Louis careful, giving him a careless shrug and a self-depreciative smile, “but we’re good.”

                Louis takes a moment to really study them, but he sees nothing out of place as Jay continues to chop up some vegetables and Harry pulls Louis in with a roll of his eyes to peck him once on the lips. He’s become better at it—being affectionate with Louis in front of other people and not entirely freezing up. So with that, Louis takes off to go back outside and decides he’s just thinking the worst.

                The night at Zayn’s is entirely fantastic. It’s everything Louis knew it would be—having attended a Zayn Malik party before. There’s booze and bud (that both Louis and Harry politely decline), good tunes, and good company. Louis gets to introduce Harry to all his childhood friends and after enough times, Harry stops looking like a deer caught in headlines when Louis introduces him as his boyfriend. Zayn and Harry also bond over their love of marvel, and Louis almost gags externally but internally loses it when he realizes Harry’s not only a perfect fit with him, but also everyone else in his life. By the time twelve rolls around and they’re ringing in the New Year, Louis and Harry are both sufficiently buzzed, and Harry is apparently comfortable enough to stop touching Louis carefully. Because in that moment Harry picks Louis up, keeps him there with his hands under his thighs and kisses him with so much passion that everyone in the room starts to whistle at them.

                It’s perfect, it’s everything, and Louis can’t even really feel sad as they lay down in bed that he only really has another day left with Harry and then their vacation is over. He can’t even dread that after he won’t have this. He won’t have this freely open and unhidden relationship with Harry. He can’t even bother indulging that thought.

                Harry drapes his whole body over Louis’, nuzzling into him and kissing the top of Louis’ head over and over again until Louis is giggling uncontrollably.

                Louis’ manages to flip them, Harry’s horrible motor movements only becoming worse when he’s drunk giving Louis the advantage for once to be stronger. He pins Harry’s hands down to the mattress, holding him down with the weight of his body, “enough, Styles!”

                The giggling quickly comes to a stop, as Louis watches Harry’s smile disappear and his expression become a lot more serious.

                “Babe?” Louis lets go of Harry’s pinned hands, instead intertwining their fingers in both and bringing their clasped hands to Harry’s chest.

                Harry blinks up at Louis, “I was just thinking like,” Louis nods encouragingly when he sees Harry halt, turns his gaze away and bite his lips.

                “Go on, Haz,” Louis presses.

                Harry takes a moment before he looks back up at Louis and says, “I was thinking maybe we could try it the other way tonight. You know, like. Switch roles.”

                That’s when it’s Louis’ turn to freeze. Throughout their entire relationship, Louis feels like he’s barely the one to panic, to become distressed and just—freeze up. But in that moment, he could not describe it as anything else but that. His heartbeat feels distant as he looks down at Harry, his whole body going rigid, his mouth unable to form words.

                “I, um, I,” he tries, and fails, his body shutting down on itself. Rapidly, he climbs off Harry’s lap, sits on the side of the bed holding his own hands.

                Harry sits up quickly, and Louis feels the whole bed shake with it. He tries to breathe through whatever he feels going through his body—this unusual feeling of panic. He feels Harry grab onto his face with both hands, commanding Louis to look at him. It takes him a moment to do it, but when he looks at Harry he tries to focus on the beauty that’s right in front of him, instead of the erratic beating of his own heart that just won’t stop.

                “Lou—Louis,” Harry says, “breathe, please. Babe, what’s wrong?”

                Louis closes his eyes and shakes his head. He takes Harry’s hands in his own and pulls them away from his face gently. He counts in his head, because he wants to talk about it, he wants to say something—there’s just so much noise in his head.

                He eventually gets it under control, feels his heart steady enough to the point where he can speak. When he opens his eyes Harry’s just looking at him worriedly, hands stifled in his lap.

                Louis takes a deep breath, looks away from Harry, “I’ve never done that before.”

                He looks shyly back to him through his lashes, and Harry doesn’t look perplexed or anything, instead he looks understanding.

                He reaches a bit for Louis, only to where his fingertips are lightly touching Louis’ knee, “it’s okay. You know I haven’t either.”

                And Louis does know that. He knows Harry’s sexual history, knows that the one that he has with guys is not even extensive to say the least. Which is why Louis never thought this would happen, that Harry would want to switch roles. He thought they were both more than comfortable in the roles they had been playing. And it’s not that the thought is unappealing to him. Any type of sex with Harry sounds amazing. It’s the fear, his own personal distraught taunting him when he thinks about it. It’s what is holding him back, what keeps him in the comfortable position of a bottom.

                “I just don’t—what if it’s horrible?” Louis gulps, unable to ask the questions that are really going through his mind. _What if you figure you don’t like my body like you thought? What if I panic and say things I never want you to hear? What if I make you run away?_

Harry chuckles a bit under his breath at Louis’ words, clutching onto to Louis’ knee with his whole hand, “I don’t think it’s going to suck, if that’s really what you’re worried about,” it isn’t, but Louis doesn’t  say as much, “but if we find we don’t like it, we just don’t do it again. That’s all.”

                Louis doesn’t know if Harry’s being naïve, or if he actually believes what he’s saying. But Louis doesn’t see how something this serious could end up being so simple. He says nothing, looking away once more with no words left to articulate.

                “Hey,” Harry says gently, rubbing up and down Louis’ thighs until he gives in and looks at him, “I want this with you. I promise you, if it goes wrong, there’s nothing to worry about. It won’t happen again”

                The thing about Harry is that he’s never really lied to Louis. He’s never told Louis one thing and then felt another. He’s always been real with Louis about how he feels, about what he wants, and about what he expects. And Louis doesn’t think how this time could be any different. The fear is still ever present on Louis’ skin, but he knows it’s irrational fear. It’s a fear that stems from a much darker place inside Louis that Harry can’t reach, has no knowledge of even. So if he declines, it’s not fair to Harry. It’s not fair to them. But instead of giving Harry an answer, Louis just kisses him, trying to suppress the ringing in his ears returning. Instead of drowning in that, he tries to drown in the way Harry’s hands roam his body, in the way Harry feels underneath him, wrapping his legs around Louis’ waist the way he’s seen Louis do. He drowns himself in the noises Harry makes when Louis thrusts experimentally, drowns himself in the way Harry encourages him on.

                It’s not nearly as smooth as it is when it’s the other way around, both of them only practiced in what they’ve been doing up until now. Louis’ opened himself up on multiple occasions, but he’s never opened up anyone else, and it’s only when he’s already opening up Harry that he realizes it’s a bit different. He puts a bit too much lube that spills on the comforter, being extra cautious because it’s Harry’s first time, and for all that this is a big deal to Louis, it has to be a bigger deal to Harry. So Louis tries to do it right.

                The noise only starts to get impossibly loud when he’s rolling on the condom, Harry already prepped up to three fingers, having told Louis he’s ready. Louis’ breathing starts to labor, and his hands start to fiddle with condom, shaking uncontrollably. It’s embarrassing to him enough when he has a hard time rolling it on but it’s worse when he realizes Harry’s noticed, bringing his rest to rest on top of Louis’ to stop his movements. They meet eyes and in the dim light of the room Louis can make out everything Harry’s silently telling him in that one look. He gives him a slight nod, barely noticeable, and removes his hand. He watches as Harry rolls the condom down for him, slowly. Louis hisses when Harry tugs him a bit when he’s done, and the noise goes down when he sees Harry make grabby hands for him, gesturing for him to come close.

                They kiss for a bit, the noise in Louis’ head going down the longer they do, to the point where all he can hear, see, and feel again is Harry.

                “Turn around,” Louis whispers, his voice so low even to his own ears.

                “But,” Harry stammers, for the first time looking as nervous as Louis’ felt the whole time, “I want to see you”

                Louis holds his breathe a bit, only letting it out to say, “I know, babe. But—it’ll hurt less. Trust me, okay?”

                Harry does, turning around to lay on his belly a bit hesitantly. Louis wishes he was still looking at Harry’s face, getting lost in his beauty, in his eyes. Because the moment Harry’s face is out of view and his ass comes into view, Louis feels panicky again. But he can’t be selfish, remembering his first time and knowing it was better the way Zayn had told him to lay down on his belly.

                Louis tries not to over think it as he grabs onto his dick, digs his hands into Harry’s waist, and pushes in. It’s a completely different feeling for Louis. He never went as far in hiding his sexuality where he  somehow found himself having sex with girls. And when he started having sex with guys, he just automatically always took the role of the bottom. So having something warm and tight around him is something so different, it takes moments for it to catch up to Louis. It’s only when Harry politely, voice rough and a bit strained, asks Louis to move that he remembers to. When he does, the feeling of unfamiliarity only heightens. The one thing that keeps him is going is the way Harry’s back muscles tense as he grabs at the sheets, the soft whimpering noises escaping his mouth.

                It’s not bad, not even the least bit. But Louis feels uncomfortable as he moves in and out of Harry, unable to feel quite at home with it. He can tell Harry enjoys it though, meeting Louis’ thrusts with a movement of his own hips. Louis tries to focus, tries to make it better and good for Harry, and reaches around underneath them to jerk Harry off to the rhythm he’s created.

                When Harry comes it’s loud and not sounding anything like he comes when he fucks Louis. It doesn’t feel like more, it just feels different. He’s first, and Louis follows moments after, only riding out his orgasm in a few thrusts inside of Harry before pulling out. He discards the condom and Harry cleans himself up, and they lay back down together the way the normally always do after sex. But there’s still something buzzing across Louis’ skin that doesn’t feel right. He tries to push it down when Harry pulls him close to his chest.

                “You okay?” he asks, everything silent around them.

                Louis takes a moment to breathe him in before answering, “yeah. Just—was different. I should be asking you how you feel, sorry.”

                He feels the rumble of Harry’s laughter travel through his chest before it’s out his mouth, and despite everything he’s feeling, he can’t help but smile at the sound.

                “It’s okay. It was a first for you too,” he pauses for a second, grazing the tips of his fingers up and down Louis’ arm, “I thought it was really good.”

                Louis shuts his eyes at that. It’s not that he wanted to Harry to say the opposite, he would’ve felt like the most incompetent boyfriend had he. But it’s just—as much as Louis wanted to make it good for Harry, he also secretly wished Harry wouldn’t like it as much as he sounds like he did. Because Louis has to get over a lot of things before he’s comfortable enough with it where Harry doesn’t have to pretty much walk him through it. And those are things Louis’ not even ready to talk about, to let Harry know about.

                “Yeah,” Louis says, trying to sound like he means it, “it was good for me too.”

                Harry doesn’t say anything, but he lifts Louis’ chin up so they’re looking at each other and Louis knows he doesn’t believe him. He tries not to look too ashamed of himself for lying, and for not finding pleasure in it the way he should, they way he actually really wants to.

                “Thank you,” is actually what Harry ends up saying, and then giving Louis a good, long kiss. He doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t ask anything either. Not the way Louis thought he would, not the way Louis finds himself feeling disappointed that he didn’t. Because it’s Harry, and Harry can always tell when something’s wrong and though he doesn’t push, he lets it be known that he’s there. That he’s there for Louis, with Louis. But not this time. This time he just settles against Louis, and falls asleep. Nothing else said between them, though Louis could feel like there’s so much more. And Louis goes asleep with the thought of _why_ Harry didn’t say more in his head.

 

\--

 

                _He ducks down to get some peppers from their fridge for Jay. She’s making an excellent dish for tonight, and Harry was delighted to offer her a helping hand when she asked for it. He kicks the fridge door shut lightly, both his hands occupied with vegetables. He’s about to turn to give them to her when movement from outside the window catches his eye. It’s Louis, and seconds  later his laugh is booming from outside, crowding Harry’s space even from inside, as Daisy rides his back and buries her face in his neck. Harry’s always wanted kids, and it’s now that he’s been home with Louis and his family that he realizes Louis does too. He could be the perfect father. He could be the perfect husband._

_“He’s great with them, you know,” Jay says, and Harry turns to see she’s watching them too. Fond smile on her face. Her eyes crinkle at the corners too, when she smiles genuinely. It’s how he’s able to read her so well. She’s like Louis. “When Louis loves people, he loves them with everything he’s got,” she continues, and Harry’s daze is broken from that. He looks directly to Jay, still looking out to Louis and the girls. He walks slowly towards her, vegetables still to be handed over._

_“He’s not home often, but I know he loves them even more now. I can tell.”_

_Harry gulps as he places the vegetables down next to her cutting board, starting to feel nerves prickle at his spine. He doesn’t know where Jay is headed, but he knows it’s somewhere his way. He can tell by the tone of her voice, by the words she’s choosing carefully. It means something more than what she’s said so far._

_It’s when she looks at him and says, “that’s how I know he loves you,” that he thinks he understands._

_He nods, “I love him, too. A lot.”_

_He thinks he proves it to Louis all the time. Subtly, like when he reaches for Louis absent-mindedly when they’re studying and lounging about in Louis’ bed. Sometimes not so subtly, like now. Like when he agreed to come and meet Louis’ entire family and stay with them. Harry says ‘I love you’ to Louis in all different types of way, but he makes sure he does it every day. Because he never wants Louis to forget, and he never gets tired of reminding him. He knows it’s different for other people though. They can’t always see it the way the people in the relationship can. And she’s his mom, she really just wants someone to love Louis as fiercely as she does. She wants to make sure Harry does, and Harry is ready to read her sonnets he’s written in his mind about Louis’ eyelashes, and the way his eyes feel like his own personal ocean, just to convince her. He wants her to know that Harry can be everything she wants for Louis, even though their situation is complicated._

_She smiles at him, and he pays attention to the way her eyes don’t crinkle. He opens his mouth to start spilling his love for Louis everywhere, so even Jay can’t be blinded by Harry’s own insecurities. But she speaks before he gets the chance._

_“I know, Harry,” she replies instead, shocking Harry to silence and confusion. “I know you love him. Even if you’re a bit restrained, I can see how much that restraint hurts you. Because you seem like the kind of person who loves with everything they have too.”_

_Harry nods slightly, completely unsure now of where the conversation is headed then. He waits in silence as Jay just stares at him. He shuffles his feet a bit under her gaze, although there’s no heat behind it. Harry’s just scared of where she might be going, knowing that it is leading up to something. Even if it’s a different direction than where he originally thought she was going._

_She sighs, turns around and makes way to the sink. She turns the faucet on and Harry watches, still nervous, still confused as ever, still trying to figure out where it’s going._

_“Louis thinks you guys are permanent. I’m sure you already know this,” she doesn’t turn to face him, but Harry nods anyways and takes a bit of a step closer to her, “but you don’t. Do you?”_

_When she finally turns to look at him, it’s the same moment Harry wishes she would’ve kept her back to him. The blue of her eyes reminds him so much of Louis’, and he feels a bit of breath as she looks back at him with the answer already locked inside them._

_“I--,” he pauses, trying to make out the right words. He does want it. He’s never wanted anything more. He wants Louis to raise his kids with him the same way he helped raised his own sisters. He wants to build a family, wake up beside him and go to bed with him every single day and night. He wants a life where his partner is Louis, where Louis is attached to every apart of him. He wants permanence. But as much as Harry wants it, as much as Harry kids and talks and plans, at the end, he knows all their plans will fall through. He knew it before they even decided to get serious, which is why he didn’t want to ever start, ever build up false hope for them. But he was the moth, Louis was the flame, and he burned himself to the death at the end._

_When he looks at Jay again, she doesn’t look angry with him. There’s sympathy in her eyes that Harry thinks is misplaced._

_“It’s not what you want. You want to think of the both of you as permanent too, I know you do. But you can’t. Because you see things a bit more clearer than Louis.” It’s not a question, and Harry doesn’t think to argue. She’s not wrong. But he hates confirmation, he hates even having this conversation. So he stays still where he stands._

_“I don’t want to tell you two what to do with that. I see where you’re coming from, and I see Louis’ optimism too. But either way, it’s not my place to give my opinion or try and make decisions,” Harry wants to say something, thank her maybe, but her remains silent through it all. “But, Harry,” she says, and Harry feels like he might throw up, “you need to tell him that. Because he thinks that you think the same way he does. And I know you want to Harry, and you can always tell him that. But you also have to tell him you don’t.”_

_Harry’s hands are shaking as he runs them through his hair and Jay keeps looking at him like he might break. He finally understands why. He thinks he might. He’ll break and leave scattered pieces all over their kitchen floor, and he’ll miss some. He’ll leave some there forever._

_He tries to find the words, tries to search for them deep and true because he wants to make a case for himself. He wants to tell her the one thing he wants more than anything is Louis and he feels like he can breathe with him. Louis has been his knight and shinning armor through the torture that has been Harry’s freshmen year in college. His entire transition, Louis has been the reason it’s gone so well for Harry. He wants to make it clear how much he means to Harry. But he stays quiet, because he realizes that’s got nothing to do with it. It doesn’t make a difference in the end._

_“I just think he deserves to know,” she whispers, looking solemn, “I don’t doubt you care for him but,” she looks at Harry pointedly and Harry feels something crack inside him, “I don’t doubt you’ll still end up hurting him either way. Sometimes Harry, what we want is not more important than what we’re capable of giving.”_

_She looks like she might say more, and Harry still feels the lump of words stuck in his throat when they both hear the back door close. They don’t hear screaming or intense chattering, and they both giving each other a knowing look. Jay goes back to washing her hands, and Harry leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest, head ducked when Louis walks in._

_Harry knew Louis would notice something was a bit off. He knows his mother, and he knows Harry, but both Jay and Harry do a good enough job of convincing Louis everything is under control. He goes back outside easily enough._

_As soon as he’s out of the room, Jay turns to Harry and says, voice soft, “just talk to him, yeah?”_

_Harry gives a stiff nod, but he knows she’s right. And that, he thinks, shatters him entirely too soon._

                He hates that in life, there are decisions you have to make although you wish you didn’t. His mother used to tell him that all the time when he was younger. He never understood it. He wishes he would’ve never gotten to the point where he did.

                Harry makes his way silently into the dance studio after he sees everyone else walk out. Louis is the last one left, his back turned to Harry unaware of his presence. Harry wills himself to look at his feet instead, try to make it easier for himself. He knows no matter what he does though, to make the situation better, what he’s about to do will never be easy.

                He only looks up when he hears Louis gasp, “Harry,” he smiles so bright at him, moving his feet quickly to go up to him. Harry feels overridden with guilt already. “What a pleasant surprise.”

                Louis makes to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck or maybe just touch him, Harry doesn’t know. He doesn’t let it happen for him to find out. Instead he moves away instantly, stepping right out of Louis’ embrace. The look on Louis’ face when Harry does is nauseating.

                “hey, relax,” Louis puts his hand up defensively, “I was just going to hug you, Jesus. Thought this might’ve gotten better over vacation. Guess not.”

                Harry tries not to explode. He can’t do it. He can’t. He thought if he picked the right setting, if he prepared himself enough times in his head he’d just be able to do it quick and fast. Walk away and not even look back. The ballet studio seemed like the perfect place. He knew if he did it in Louis’ dorm, Louis’ would’ve said something, done something, and Harry would’ve stayed. Everything he had planned to say and do would’ve gone to waste. But it becomes clear to Harry that the location isn’t the problem. It’s just Louis. It’s how his heart is undeniably tied to him that it physically pains him, what he’s about to do. And just when he thinks he won’t, he remembers Jay’s words, echoing in his mind.

                _But you also have to tell him you don’t._

_I just think he deserves to know._

_I don’t doubt you’ll still end up hurting him either way. Sometimes Harry, what we want is not more important than what we’re capable of giving._

He looks at Louis. Looks at him standing there in his dance uniform, eyebrows creased, hair pushes back, eyes so, so blue. And he knows, he knows he has to do this for him. He coughs a bit into his fist and then he sets his jaw, “Louis, we can’t do this anymore.”

He feels like he can’t breathe once the words are out, but he forces himself to stay calm, to keep acting like the burn inside him isn’t growing into an uncontrollable flame. If he crumbles, if he lets his real emotions seep through, it’ll break Louis further. It’ll destroy them. He thinks of all the times Louis’ been strong for them. All the times he smiled and fought to suppress emotion when Harry went out on dates with girls he couldn’t care less about. He knows it’s his turn to return the favor.

Louis looks stuck where he stands. Blinking at Harry, processing his words.

“Harry,” his voice breaks on just one word, and Harry feels his heart break with him, “what’re you—what’s going on?”

He takes a step forward, quick and with purpose and Harry side steps him again. The look on Louis’ face is one Harry wishes he could erase from his mind the minute it happens, but knows will stay with him forever. He looks confused, and pained, and absolutely at lost from what to do. He looks like a child who has just been separated from his mother without warning, without any place to go. Harry doesn’t think Louis’ ever looked like that before. And he hates that he’s the reason. Throughout everything Harry’s hated himself for putting Louis through, he’s never hated himself more.

“Louis, don’t,” he says steady, voice harsh, “we just can’t, okay? There’s no—we don’t have a _future_ , Louis. This is just going to end up hurting us more if we drag it out—”

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about, Harry?” Louis’ voice shrills, booming through the studio and bouncing off the walls. Harry tries not to flinch at the sound, at the way it reflects all the plain Harry is inflicting. He can’t back down now. He has to keep going. “We don’t have a future? Where is that coming from? Of course we do! We just went on vacation together, we--” he stops himself, voice trapped by emotion.

Harry has closes his hands into fists to keep from screaming out, or crying, or both. He sees Louis as a drill in his mind. His body is aching, sore and tired. But he has to keep going. He has to do it.

“No, we don’t, Louis,” his voice is calm as he backs away, Louis still coming towards him a bit frantically.

“Is this about New Years?” Louis’ eyes widen, and he looks so unsure of himself, “because you—you _wanted_ to. I didn’t even want to, Harry. You said we’d be fine!” he’s yelling now, tears starting to roll down his face and Harry has never felt more dead. He’s never felt more sick to his stomach, more punctured in his soul, more lost in his own body. He wants to tear his skin apart, rebuild himself to someone who deserves Louis. Could have him.

“Louis, no,” his voice is soft, because he never wants Louis to think this is something he did. That this is because of him. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me. And that sounds lame, I know it does but—Louis think about it. How could we end up together, huh? Are we just going to go around hiding for another four years?”

Louis shakes his head, “we said we’d make it work.”

Harry gulps, because those words were on his tongue too many times, too many nights hidden away with Louis. But Harry just wanted to mean them. He never really did.

“I know and—Louis, I wanted it too. But it just won’t. Realistically, speaking in terms of me being signed and all that,” Harry breathes, tries not to let his cracks seep through. Louis is breaking enough for the two of them. “It just wasn’t in the cards for us. We wouldn’t make it, Louis, we wouldn’t. But it’s not about you, it’s about me and this shitty life I’ve chosen. Where being gay isn’t as accepting as it is in your career field. But I wanted what happened on New Years to happen. I wanted it to be _you_.”

He doesn’t think the last confession makes it better or easier for any of them. But he needs Louis to know he could never regret that, not like he’s regretting things now.

“So all those nights we stayed up talking about our future,” Louis hiccups, tears rolling down so fast. Ignoring Harry’s last comment in a way that makes Harry think he didn’t even hear him. “It was all just you talking bullshit, huh? You never meant any of it.”

It’s then that their roles change. Harry is the one who takes a step forward and Louis is the one who takes a step back. It stings, like a burn directly incinerated on the skin. But it hurts so much, knowing Harry made Louis feel that too.

“Louis, please. I wanted to mean it, I did. And in my own fantasy world, it’s exactly what it would’ve been like,” he watches as Louis shakes his head and he raises his voice, wants him to _hear_ him, “but I can’t keep you and reality separate because _you’re not_. You’re one in the same. And in reality, it doesn’t work”

                Harry watches as Louis shakes his head, yanks at his hair in a way that looks painful. Harry wants to reach out and pull his hands away, but he stays where he is. He doesn’t think if he touched Louis then he’d ever stop, and he doesn’t think Louis would want him to.

                “We could work,” Louis whispers, the blue in his eyes deeper than before as he looks at Harry with tears stuck in them.

                Harry gulps down his own tears, “we can’t.”

                It’s silent for a bit, and Harry wants it to be over as much as he doesn’t. Because he knows when Louis walks out, it’s the last time Harry’s going to see him the way he’s gotten so used to, the way he is now. It’s going to be from a distance. It’s going to be with David. With others. Living his life as if Harry never existed. And though Harry knows that’s what’s best, it’s the worst part of everything. That life for them stops right after Louis walks out, because as much as Harry didn’t think it’d ever be forever, he also couldn’t see himself without Louis once he had him.

                Louis shakes his head, laughs humorlessly.

“You know what’s funny?” Harry knows whatever comes next won’t be funny at all, “For most of our relationship, I felt as if I was worrying myself over nothing. Because you convinced me I was. But now I understand why that worry never went away.”

                Harry doesn’t have to look at him to know those are going to be his last words. He doesn’t have to watch as Louis picks up his bags and makes his way across the studio to know he’s leaving. He doesn’t have to listen to the way Louis cries as he does walk out, the way his shoulders shake and he doesn’t look back. Can’t even stand to look at Harry one last time. But Harry wants to hurt more than he’s ever hurt before. So he watches and he waits until the door slams shut and he finds himself alone to let it all out. He crumbles down to the floor instantly, face in his hands, heart on the floor. Scattered and broken to a million different pieces he’s not sure if he’ll ever get back.

 

\--

 

                Louis goes to Harry’s twentieth birthday bash. It’s held at some fancy hotel that rumor has it Niall Horan rented out for them. It’s a penthouse suit, last floor of the building, and Louis has the whole wait over there to try and suppress the overwhelming feeling of sickness overriding him. He goes with David for two reasons. The first being Louis is still in LA without a car, and David is always up to provide Louis with transportation to places. The second being that he feels like if maybe he has David by his side, crowding his space, reminding Louis of what is meant for him, Louis won’t be so focused on the one thing in the room that never was. It’s only just a thought though, an idea to make it all more bearable. Louis’ not very sure it has any chance of working.

                He knows he doesn’t have to attend. Really, Louis and Harry haven’t spoken since Harry broke them off about a week and a half ago. They’ve seen each other in one football game since then. Louis saw Harry staring from his spot on the field, and as much as Louis wanted to look away, he found himself staring right back. But that was just that and nothing really came out of it. Louis knows it’s for the best. Also, just Louis’ luck that he’s also caught Harry in the halls of their dorm floor, walking to class or coming from class with a pretty girl following right along his side. Something that never used to happen when they were actually together. Nothing came from that either, except Louis just hurrying to get to wherever he was headed.

But Louis still feels it’s right to attend. After all, he’s still Harry’s RA, and he still wants to be there for him if he needs him to be. And he thinks maybe if he shows up tonight, even if they don’t formally speak, Harry will still understand that Louis’ door is open when Harry feels like he has nowhere else to. And Harry was also there for Louis’ twenty-second, even if it was through a phone call. He was still the first to wish him a happy birthday despite all else, despite not being there to physically be with him. Louis feels like maybe he owes him this, maybe they owe it to each other. The right to celebrate their birthday’s together, even if it’s from afar.

                The entire pent house is swarmed with bodies moving about, lounging around. It’s not much of a surprise. For all that Harry Styles is envied, and even looked down upon by some; he’s still remained the biggest thing in their University since he entered. Louis didn’t suspect a smaller audience to attend, if he’s honest.

                It helps too, because for the better half of the party Louis doesn’t even see Harry. He actually sees everyone but him. He sees some of the girls from his dance team, including Macy, and he even gets greeted by Niall Horan as per usual. He gets chatted up by people’s faces he recognizes but names he can’t recall, and he’s on his third drink (the alcohol already sinking in), by the time Harry actually comes into sight.

                He looks so good, Louis thinks. Maybe even better than the last time Louis saw him which should be impossible, because it hasn’t been long enough for Harry to make such a transformation. And it probably is, impossible, and not true. It’s probably just that Louis hasn’t seen him like this in so long, hasn’t been so close to him after being so used to always touching him. He has black jeans that looked painted on, hugging his strong thighs and outlining their definition. He has a sheer shirt with an abstract pattern buttoned down to reveal most of his chest and torso tattoos and his hair is freshly washed and styled, falling down around his face in a series of waves, parted deep to the side. He has a necklace on that Louis instantly recalls yanking on during sex, and rings on his fingers Louis can vividly see himself playing with in his bed. He’s chatting away with a group of boys Louis is sure are football teammates, and he’s got a drink in his hands, dimples out, eyes bright. Louis wonders if he misses him at all, and he tears his eyes away instantly.

                “Wanna go say ‘hi’? Maybe ‘happy birthday?” David asks, leaning into Louis as Louis looks back down to the table set up for drinks, though he’s not even half way done with the one in his hands.

                “Nah,” Louis replies easily, avoiding David’s eyes as he absently searches for something else, “later. He looks busy right now.”

                David doesn’t really push him, instead he starts asking Louis what he wants to drink. David, for all that he is, is at least decent company. He’s always eager to show off, which is annoying to Louis in any other setting. It’s the reason why they never really worked the way everyone thought they would, and Louis thinks they ever will. Because David has to make everything a competition, a challenge, something he has to excel at. There’s never anything else to anything he does but that. But in this particular case, it comes in handy. It provides a great distraction for Louis, watching David try and mix extravagant drinks he claims to have learned in some poetry club. Louis is giggling and watching away blissfully, almost forgetting where he is, why he feels a thump in his heart and a hollow in chest, until two girls join them at the table. They don’t pay Louis and David any mind, instead going and chatting away indiscreetly as they grab more drinks.

                “I’m going to be Harry Style’s first fuck as a twenty-year old man,” one of them says, and upon hearing her Louis’ eyes quickly snap up to the girl and away from David. He curses himself internally, switching his gaze back to David, currently mixing something that doesn’t look at all appealing. But he’s still listening, his ears opened for and trained on the girl’s voice.

                Her friend laughs, “Yeah, right. Good luck. You’ve heard what people have been saying about him”

                Louis wonders what she’s talking about. He hasn’t heard anything about Harry lately. Maybe he just hasn’t wanted to listen.

                The girl scoffs, grabs for the vodka. “It’s bullshit. You know the guys are just jealous of him.”

                Louis tries to focus, he tries to keep his eyes averted but he can’t. He has to look at her. He has to see the girl who might replace him so easily, as if he was disposable enough. She’s pretty. Petite and curvy, with hair going all down her back in waves of chocolate brown and eyes wide like her pink mouth. She could definitely replace him. Louis knows how much Harry appreciates things to grab at, an ass to coddle during sex. She has that. She has it.

                “Well, how’re you going to make it work, anyways?” her friends asks, and Louis doesn’t miss the bit of jealousy coming through. He knows the feeling. “You know how many girls in here are probably trying to go for the same thing you are?”

                The girl runs a hand through her silky hair, and Louis doesn’t have to follow her line of sight to know she’s looking at Harry then. There’s a small smirk edged on to her lips, “they’re going to make him chug a keg in like the next five minutes. Countdown ‘till midnight. And then Josh is going to tell Harry to take me to his room, in front of everyone,” the girls sounds proud, and Louis tries to not breathe too hard, “after I’ve kissed him.”

                It’s the last thing Louis can bear to here. He knows he has to leave before everything happens. And he knows it will happen. Harry is too polite, and will probably be too drunk, to back away from her when she goes for it. The way he backed away from Louis when Louis tried to touch him the day Harry broke it off. And he will fear for everything else too much to say no to what Josh is proposing. It will happen, and Louis cannot be around to see it. He can barely stand upright at the sound of girls speaking about Harry the way they are. If only they knew he’d only been with one person since he started college and that was person was _him_. It was him. And he wasn’t just sleeping with him, he _had_ him. He had him almost enough to keep him. No one will ever know. Only Louis, and that’s not even the worst part.

                He gently stops David’s hand midair reaching for another bottle to keep on mixing his ridiculous drinks, “I think it’s time to go.”

                David looks at him a bit perplexed, “now?” he looks at the watch on his wrist, then back up at Louis with the same confusion in his eyes as before, “it’s not even midnight, Louis.”

                “I know,” Louis replies, because he does know. He doesn’t care. “But I’m honestly exhausted, and though it’s been fun, I just wanna go now.”

                It hasn’t been fun, not really. For the bit that Louis was about, he had to mingle and pretend to be okay. Like he’s had to do for the past week and a half. Like he’ll probably have to do for a very long time. But it was so much harder doing that when he knew the reason he wasn’t okay at all was in the same room as him, doing a much better job at pretending. Had he been pretending at all.

                “Alright,” David doesn’t protest, because Louis knows David mostly came only for Louis. “Do you wanna go say bye, though?”

                Louis nods, because he does. As much as his heart starts to beat violently across his chest at even the thought of being face to face with Harry, so close and so far, he wants Harry to know Louis came. He didn’t stay, he couldn’t. But he came. He was there. He thinks Harry will understand what it means, what Louis wants it to.

                David nods back, and together they both put their drinks down on the table, and walk to the center of the room where Harry is still standing. He’s still surrounded by people too. A flock of boys and girls gravitating around him, leeching off the warmth that once belonged to Louis. He gulps down everything he feels in that one moment. He tries to concentrate on the grip David has on the small as his back, tries to lean against it for support, as they make their way to the crowd. Another perk about being the University’s other golden boy, is that everyone respects your presence. So when Louis approaches, and people notice it’s him, they part to create a path for him. It’s then that Harry and Louis look into each other’s eyes, and Louis can tell the moment it registers to Harry that Louis is there. He feels the breath knock out of him, looking into a green he’s lost.

                He tries to open his mouth, and he does. But nothing comes out. He sees Harry do the same, looking at Louis with a mixture of awe, and confusion, and joy maybe. Louis doesn’t know. He doesn’t get a chance to find out. Because as soon as it finally looks like Harry might say something, his gaze flicking from Louis, to David, to where they’re connected, back to Louis, Josh pipes up.

                He claps his hand on Louis’ shoulder in some kind of passive greeting, and Louis bites down the urge to yank his hand off of him in disgust. He does look at him with a face though, when Josh leaves his hand there for a beat too long, that Josh is oblivious to. He claps his hands once, makes his way further into the circle, his boys behind him carrying a keg. And the girl. The girl from the table right beside them, a twinkle in her eye as she looks up at Harry. Louis feels panic.

                “Harry Styles,” he says, loud and so the whole room’s attention is on him. On them. Louis wants to move, he wants to make way to go. But there’s so many people, so many bodies he can’t get through quick enough, “my man. The little star quarterback who’s taken everyone by surprise with his talent,” Josh smiles as he puts a hand around Harry, having to reach up. Harry looks at him, a puzzled smile plastered on his face. He’s clearly uncomfortable, Louis knows him well enough to notice. But no one else does. Everyone is still smiling.

                “Today is your twentieth birthday, my friend,” there’s something in his voice Louis doesn’t like. And he knows all this is a test, all of it is to test how Harry will react. And to hope he doesn’t react the way Josh wants him to, so he’ll have reason to ridicule and pick on him. Single him among his own party guests. Louis feels so sick standing back and watching it happen. Unable to intervene. It’s not his place anymore, if it ever was.

                “And you know, we got off to a rough start and all that,” some people in the crowd laugh, though Louis can’t find humor in it, “but I’ve gotta say, you’ve made our team so much better. And because of that, because me and the boys want to show you how much we appreciate you, we’ve gotten you two gifts this year.”

                Louis heart picks up impossible speed, and his breathing is coming out quickly. His chest is expanding and retracting, and he feels like he has to scream, he has to kick and scream as he watches the rest play out.

                “The first is this beautiful keg filled with beer here, my friend. _It’s all yours_ ,” Josh says with an awful tilt to his mouth, “and the second, is my beautiful friend here,” he reaches out his hand for the girl, who quickly goes and stands tucked underneath his other arm, smiling up at Harry like she’s trying to sell herself. It’s horrible, it’s demeaning. And Louis doesn’t understand why anyone ever listens to a thing Josh does, or says.          

                “Out of all the girls here tonight, there’s no work to be done with this one. She’s also _all yours_ ”

                Louis doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes search for him for a second, find him, and then look away before he gives himself up. But Louis sees him looking, he sees the panic in the way his hands clutch to his drink, push back his hair. And Louis just can’t watch anymore. Everything about it is sick. Josh is sick. He’s sick for exploiting the girl the way he is, he’s sick for pressuring Harry into something he probably already understands isn’t appealing to him, for making a show of it. For having Louis there. For not giving a shit about anything. He’s sick.

                People in the crowd start to whistle and clap and chant Harry’s name. Louis whips his head around to see who, try and glare dagger at them. But there’s too many people to begin with, and really the only person Louis wants to keep his eyes on is Harry. He can’t even imagine how Harry must be feeling, and despite all the hurt Harry’s caused him, Louis doesn’t hate him. He’s still hopelessly in love with him. He doesn’t want this for Harry.

                “So, how about it, Harry?” Josh asks, looking up at Harry once more with a devilishly grin on his face. Louis wants to punch it right off of him.

                “Keg?” one of the boys holding the Keg says. Quickly, the crowd bursts into chants of that.

                “This is so stupid,” David says beside him, and Louis looks up to his side to see him rolling his eyes. For once, Louis has to agree with David’s arrogant attitude.

                He turns to watch Harry again. He sees him shrug, let go of his drink and hand it to Niall. The boys move in, still chanting. Josh and the girl step aside as the boys bring the Keg up to Harry height, and Harry tilts his head back, exposing his neck, to drink it up.

                It’s not that it’s a big deal or anything. Louis’ not opposed to underage drinking, or underage drinking specifically when it comes to Harry. But he hates what it’s about. He knows Harry’s not doing it for the fun of it, the way he would had it been Niall or someone else to propose the idea. He’s doing it to prove something. And Louis wonders what part of Harry’s life he doesn’t live having to prove things about himself to someone. Things that aren’t even true.

                He finishes in a pretty good time. The boys crowd him and hug him, ruffling Harry’s hair as he wipes down his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles modestly to the rest of the crowd. Louis hates that he loves him more than ever. But it’s the moment that comes after that does it for him. The girl doesn’t waste a second. She’s on Harry before he even has a chance to catch her. She wraps her arms around his neck, tip toeing to reach, and then her lips are on his and they’re kissing. It’s messy, and it’s sloppy, and it’s so obscene. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is when Harry wraps his arms around her waist in return, pulling her close to him instead of away and it’s just—how the hell could Louis be so easy to forget? Because that’s what it feels like then. Like Harry can’t remember that not too long ago it was Louis who he was doing that exact thing with. It was Louis he was holding, kissing, loving. And he could never do it in public, not even dream of it. But he seems to have no problem doing it in front of Louis.

                Louis cuddles into David’s side, hiding his face in his chest. It’s probably the most affectionate Louis’ ever been with him and he can feel David hesitate as he wraps an arm around his shoulders. He begs himself not to cry. He can’t cry. He can’t. He breathes in David, that smells of some posh cologne and books and a time when Louis was fine feeling like he was in something that could never shatter him.

                “Lou, you okay?”

                Louis breathes, clutching a bit tighter onto David, “yes. I’m just—this is fucking dumb. And I’m tired. I wanna go home.”

                He feels David rub at his back with a light hand, “yeah, alright. We’ll go now. They’re done sucking face anyways.”

                Louis closes his eyes, breathes David in one more time, and then pulls away enough. He looks around him to see the crowd is dispersing slowly but surely. He doesn’t even want to turn around. He doesn’t even think he can look at Harry. He fixes his fringe a bit as he looks up at David, a shaky smile coming across his face that he tries to make convincing. David intertwines their hands then, and it’s different, and not what he wants. But it helps.

                “Louis,” he hears and he freezes, his whole body feeling tight. “Louis”

                He knows he has to turn around. It’s the only way to get him to stop saying his name like it’s easy, like it doesn’t matter. So he does, and he sees Harry standing in front of him. His lips are red like they always are after he’s done kissing. His hair is a mess where her fingers probably tangled in his hair. But his eyes are empty, and his face is pale, and he’s looking at Louis like he’s sorry. Louis doesn’t think he understands how much that doesn’t matter.

                “Happy birthday, Harry.”

                He squeezes David’s hand, and then he turns, dragging them both through the crowd and to the exit.

 

\--

                There’s something in the distance Louis can hear, but can’t quite make out. He’s in between sleep and consciousness, and it takes him a while to blink his eyes open and realize the noise isn’t a figment of his imagination. It’s not coming from a lucid dream. It’s coming from outside his door. He grunts, exhausted and wanting to go back to bed. He pulls the duvet close to his chin, closing his eyes once more. He’s ready to doze off, but then he realizes what the noises are. Someone is knocking on his door. It’s not particularly unusual for people to knock on his door. Louis is an RA after all. He usually always has students knocking on his door. Especially during finals week, where students gain extreme anxiety and resort to not sleeping to study. It’s a hectic week for everyone. The thing is, though, that it’s not finals week. And when Louis goes to check his phone tucked underneath his pillow, he realizes it’s five in the morning.

                There’s no real business hours for RA’s and all, but Louis still feels like it’s common courteousy to not bang on someone’s door at five in the morning. However, because Louis is just a kind hearted person—and because he’s terrified to miss an emergency or something—he climbs out of bed despite his body yelling at him to keep sleeping. The banging on his door doesn’t stop until Louis gets to it, and by the time Louis is opening up, he’s ready to give the kid on the other side a piece of his mind. It doesn’t matter what happened. If it’s not serious enough to call an ambulance, or the damn police, then it’s not serious enough where they’re banging on Louis’ door like they need him for air. Louis doesn’t expect the kid on the other side to be Harry though.

                He blinks, and then he rubs at his eyes, becoming convinced that he’s dreaming and the universe is mocking him for believing this could be reality. Harry is still there, looking the exact same way he was some hours ago at his party. His eyes are different though. Puffier, less calm and a lot more panicked.

                “Harry?” Louis questions, because he’s still trying to wrap his brain around Harry being outside of Louis’ dorm room at five am. He can’t even wrap his head around how he got there. He blinks and squints.

                “I’m sorry,” Harry says rapidly, “for waking you up,” he adds. Louis almost wants to smack him across the head, because that’s definitely what Harry was aiming for. Louis wants to ask why, but instead he yawns when he opens his mouth. It’s too early, or late, for this right now. He just wants to know what Harry’s doing here.

                “What’re you doing here, Harry? Shouldn’t you be at the hotel with—”

                “Nothing happened,” Harry cuts in, like if he didn’t his whole world would no longer exist right then and there. Like he needs Louis to hear it. At first, Louis’ a bit disoriented to what Harry means exactly. But then it all catches up to speed with him. He gulps, and crosses his arms over his chest timidly and defensively.

                “Harry, listen,” he starts but Harry interrupts right after.

                “I don’t know why I kissed her. Well, I mean—she just came at me so fast and like, I knew if I jumped away or something people would notice,” he looks frantic, eyes wide as he searches Louis’ face and talks in a speed Louis’ never witnessed him talking at before, “and so I kissed her bad but I felt nothing—I. It wasn’t like kissing you, or being with you. It was fucking horrible. And then I saw you, and I knew you saw everything. But you just left and with David of all fucking people,” he makes a noise of frustration deep in his throat and Louis arches a brow at that, “I just took her to the room and tucked her in so she could sleep. Like, she was really pissed, and I was so happy because I didn’t want anything to happen. And nothing would’ve happened otherwise. But people are already talking, Louis, and it would’ve been bad.”

                Louis wonders what everyone’s talking about when they say people have been talking. Louis doesn’t really get it. But it’s five in the morning, Louis’ heart hurts just hearing Harry say everything he’s saying, and he just wants to go back inside for bed.

                “Harry—”

                “Nothing happened,” Harry repeats, looking as frantic as he did the first time he said it. Right outside Louis’ door. At five o’clock in the morning. Louis wonders how this became his life.

                He sighs, rubs his own arm, “it shouldn’t even matter if something did though, Harry,” he doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eye silently tell him _but it does_. He chooses to ignore that and continue. “And either way, she was beautiful. She was everything I wasn’t. No one would’ve blamed you if you got with her. Maybe, she could be good for you.” The words burn in his throat as they crawl out of his mouth. He sounds bitter. He sound so, so bitter and he hates it but he doesn’t know how to change it. Because it’s not a lie. It’s just the truth. She was beautiful—is—and her and Harry could easily walk down halls together, hand in hand, and not get side glanced. They would be praised. In the way Louis and Harry never stood the chance to.

                Harry looks offended, “don’t say that,” and he looks down at Louis with his eyebrows pinched and a downward tilt to his mouth, “it’s not true.”

                “Oh,” and Louis has to laugh at that. It’s incredible that Harry’s still trying to convince Louis of something that never existed. “Is it not? Isn’t in the reason why we couldn’t be together? Because I’m not her? Because I’m not any other girl? Because I’m not a girl at all?”

                There’s an ache in his chest he feels when he says it that is so old. He’s accustomed to it, but it never gets easier to ignore. He realizes then he’s finally being honest himself about something he never wanted to really tell to Harry. He knows he’s giving it up, not trying to keep those walls around to protect it. But he doesn’t really care about it. It doesn’t matter anymore. Hiding it from Harry won’t make a difference. In the end, his fear wasn’t as irrational as he started to believe it was.

                Harry looks at him, with an odd expression on his face, “no, Louis, you’re not a girl,” he says matter of factly. Louis can tell he doesn’t understand. “But who cares? That has nothing to do with it. Why was because of my stupid—”

                “Save it, Harry,” Louis snaps, because he knows what Harry was going to say, and he’s tired of hearing it. It’s not that Harry is wrong when he says it. Football, in technical terms, was the reason. But there would have never been a reason had he just been a different gender.

                He looks up at him, holds his chin up and gets ready to spill it everywhere, “you want to know why I shave so much? Or why I—I don’t know. Why I do the things I do? Why I just am the way I am?” He feels everything swell up in his chest, waiting, calculating for it to just be released. It’s too late to stop it even if Louis found himself wanting to. But the thing is he doesn’t. And so he releases it.

                “Because I hate that I’m not a girl. I hate that guys I’ve been with have had to hide me. You think you were the only one? Not even close. I hate that I can’t be seen with a guy without being given shit for it,” he sniffs, not letting himself stop by watching the way Harry’s eyes widen at his confession, “it’s not just you. Or football, Harry. Anywhere I go, whoever I’m with, I’m always going to be judged by someone. All because I’m not a girl. It’s not even about the gender I like, it’s about the gender I am.”

                Louis lets it hang in the air between them, not backing down from holding eye contact with Harry. He doesn’t know why he does these things, but somehow, it helps with everything else. It still doesn’t help with the way he feels about this particularly. It’s not the kind of confession that suddenly feels loads lighter when finally said out loud. Louis’ come to learn that no amount of acknowledging it really does the trick. But at least he’s self aware.

                Harry looks at him, his mouth opening and closing. He looks bewildered, at a complete lost for words. Louis can’t really blame him for that. It’s not the kind of thing most people would expect. And even for all that Harry might’ve speculated a thing or two there, he never knew specifics. Now he does.

                Louis scoffs a bit, unable to help himself. “I bet you didn’t know that, huh? That all my femininity, it’s not in direct correlation with my body but more like my absolute hatred for my own body,” he gestures to all of him loosely, indicating every single part he hates and wishes he could change in a way that’s easy.

                Harry just keeps looking at him, almost a bit like he can’t recognize him. His eyes glisten underneath emotions hidden in unforgettable waves of green. He thinks it’s the first time he sees any emotion in Harry’s eyes.

                “Louis,” he finally says, and he says it softly because Louis is fragile and Harry knows that. He knows everything about Louis now, Louis supposes. He reaches a hand out, but doesn’t actually touch. He leaves it mid-air, before it falls back to his side. “But, Louis. Why?”

                He looks lost, confused and thrown back by Louis’ confession. And it’s a bit funny to Louis, giving everything up until this point has led to this. He laughs a laugh that is much too hollow and much too forced, and it springs a bit of tears to his eyes instead of bringing joy to his heart.

                “So maybe people like you could love me in the daylight.”

                He watches as Harry’s eyes screw shut, still unwilling to look away from him. It’s as painful to hear, Louis guesses, as it is to admit. But it’s the truth and nothing but. And with all the lies exchanged behind scarred truths between them, Louis is done being anything but blatantly honest with Harry.

                “Louis,” Harry breathes, opening his eyes against to meet Louis’, “you not being a girl, it’s the one thing I love all the time. At midnight, at sunrise, when we’re fighting, when we’re not. When we’re together, when we’re apart.”

                Louis wishes he’d stop. “But you’re ashamed of it,” he adds, because he needs Harry to be cruel the way he was a week and a half ago. He needs not to make Louis fall more and more in love with him. Because it’s pointless, isn’t it? There’s no future for them if Louis is really the only one who thinks there could be.

                “I’m not,” Harry protests, looking at Louis as if he’s slapped him.

                “None of this would’ve happened if I were a girl,” Louis reminds him. Because he wants Harry to understand him.

                Harry shakes his head, takes a step too close to Louis, “you’re right. Absolutely nothing would’ve happened if you were a girl. I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

                Louis tries to breathe through that, but shakes his head all the same. Because he can’t just stand here and listen to Harry be sweet to him, tell him the things he loves about him and that he’s in love with him. He can’t do it when nothing comes out of it. When the sun rises and Harry’s gone and they’re not together.  Louis will be left feeling the same way he has been feeling, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can take every single blow to his emotional well being.

                There’s silence going around them. Harry breaks it.

                “So, you’re like—I mean. You want to be, like, transgender?” he looks generally curious, and interested in Louis’ answer when Louis finally looks up at him again. He wonders when in their conversation time felt like it stopped. He can barely remember it’s five in the morning. Almost six now, probably.

                “No,” he answers, because he might as well. “I don’t really hate my body. I like my penis. I just,” he shrugs, “I always felt like certain things would be easier if I were a girl. I know, it’s weird.”

                Harry shakes his head instantly, “not weird. Just—complicated.”

                Louis nods, though he wishes Harry could stop being so understanding, “tell me about it.”

                Harry doesn’t. Instead they fall silent again. Louis is the one to break it this time.

                “Honestly, Harry,” he says, and his voice is low when he speaks, “we can’t do this anymore, okay? I—I went to your birthday party because I wanted you to know I would be there for you when it mattered. But you showing up at my door here to justify something that has nothing to do with me anymore, it can’t happen. If we’re not going to be together,” Louis gulps and Harry doesn’t interrupt him, “then we have to act like it.”

                Harry looks like he wants to argue, but instead he nods reluctantly. Louis thanks him for that. He doesn’t think he could stand that kind of argument then.

                “I want to be here for you too, you know,” he looks at Louis with hope. Louis smiles a bit at him. Because he appreciates it, but it’s not that kind of problem.

                “This is more something I have to deal with on my own,” he says truthfully. Because it is. No one can fix broken parts of him from the inside for him. He has to do it on his own. And he will. Once he’s done repairing the damage Harry’s left behind he’ll focus on himself. It’ll maybe be easier that way.

                “I just wanted you to know what happened tonight,” Harry says, not pushing Louis on and Louis realizes Harry’s just always going to respect his wishes. Even the one he’s asking of him for tonight. “Because like, I never want you to think that I would purposefully hurt you like that.”

                At that, Louis can’t help the sad smile that comes over his face, “Harry,” he shakes his head and swallows down the sadness he feels everywhere in that moment. “You already have.”

 

\--

 

                After his birthday, Harry’s life becomes all about football. It’s all he focuses on, trains his mind to think about. Which is maybe why he should’ve seen it coming before it happened. It’s just, with speculation going around campus about Harry’s sexuality—all the girls coming forward and admitting they never did anything with Harry and word getting out about Harry not doing anything with the girl on his birthday and storming off—and Harry kind of not reacting to it, he really couldn’t be bothered to think so. But then it happens. One minute he’s doing his very best on the field, the next a scout is writing his name down, and then he gets a call from an agency. They want to get him into the draft.

                It’s surreal to Harry. With everything that’s happened in his life from the moment he started college, he never imagined it getting all better with one phone. Of course, that’s not all true. As much as Harry makes his life about football, the one thing that pushes Louis the furthest away, Louis doesn’t escape his mind. He thinks about him frequently, almost every day. And he misses him more than that. But he doesn’t come by Louis’ dorm, even when things with Josh and some of the guys from the team get really bad. Even when he desperately wants to cry, curl in on Louis’ side and have Louis kiss everything away. He doesn’t because he remembers Louis’ last words to him, about wanting things to be done for good if they were really going to be over. And they were, they had to be. So Harry listens to his requests, understands it’s only better for them if they do go about things they way they should. It’s still hard, and sometimes Harry hates it more than not.

                He gets a bit of a break from all that stressful thinking when he gets the call. And then he gets a suit ready, makes it to their meeting on time, and his problems seem to fade into the background for a moment.

                “Harry Styles,” and elder man, probably around his fifties greets him with a wide grin, head full of white hair, and a women much younger by his side. He knows immediately it’s Mr. Johnson, the man he spoke to on the phone.

                He shakes his hand firmly, and then gets introduced to Ms. Monestina, who insists he call her by her first name, his partner in their agency. She’s lovely. Her skin is tanned to a natural tone, and her hair a light brown that falls against her shoulders smoothly. She has emerald eyes, and long lashes, and she wears a tight skirt to exhibit her curves. All Harry really cares about are the papers in her hand though.

                They take a seat and then Mr. Johnson, Bradley, quickly jumps into it. They talk about the game plan, of what they want to do with Harry’s name. Mr. Johnson thinks he can get Harry into the Green Bay Packers—the team Harry had been wishing would be keeping his eyes on him. But there are certain things Harry needs to do. He needs to be fucking great. He needs to make it to the finals and he needs to be close as close to winning as possibly if he can’t actually win. Close enough where losing means getting second place. He needs to go to events, Bradley or Riley by his side. He needs to be charismatic, likable, charming.

                “Because as far as talent will take you, it will not take you far enough if you’ve got a bad attitude,” Bradley says and Harry nods along pretending he understands exactly what he’s saying.

                They even talk about what would happen if Harry does get signed—which Bradley seems heavily convinced that he can make happen. It’s all a business, and he tries to explain to Harry in between all the chatter and discussion. It’s so much. It all just hits Harry so rough and so fast, something he didn’t think would happen to him for another four years, happening to him right before his eyes. His head is spinning by the time Bradley finally pauses for a breath.

                “There’s only one, kinda big, problem,” Bradley says after a bit. Harry freezes a bit in his chair, his gaze switching from Bradley to Riley. Bradley’s just looking at him with a funny expression and Riley looks at him with a bit of sympathy. Up until that point, there really had been no problems. Not even “kind of.” Not at all “big.” Harry braces himself for whatever it may be.

                “There are some rumors going around about you, I’m sure you’ve heard of them,” he raises his eyebrows and Harry feels static in his ears.

                The one thing—the one thing Harry tried so hard not to let it ruin this for him, gave up _everything_ so it wouldn’t, and it feels like it already has. He nods, subtly, almost ashamed. He thinks of Louis. Knows Louis would be so disappointed. He pushes it back, no matter how much he hates himself for it. He can’t.

                “Look, kid,” Bradley says, his hand flat on the table, “I don’t care whether they’re true or not. That’s not my business, it’s yours. And if it were up to me, what the fuck else would matter but talent?”

                Riley nods with him, curtly. She really is lovely.

                “But unfortunately, the NFL is just like every other business. It’s built around certain principals, certain rules you’ve gotta play by,” Harry watches as Bradley licks his lips, turns to Riley before turning his gaze back to Harry, “so all I’m saying is, I cannot have you sign any kind of agreement with me, until you fully comprehend what I’m telling you.”

                Harry swallows hard, feeling like bile is coming up his throat and threatening to escape from his mouth. He grasps his thighs underneath the table hard with his hand, trying to anchor himself down, keep himself at bay. He pictures Louis’ eyes in his mind, and for once they’re not saving him, they’re drowning him.

                “Harry,” Riley speaks, for the first time in their entire meeting directly at Harry, “you would just have to think of it as another job entitled for you to play the role.”

                “Look, the problem is kind,” Bradley cuts in, and Harry’s eyes land back on him, “if you were to, you know, right now, no one would want you. Or maybe they would who knows?”

                “But it would cause a lot of controversy,” Harry’s eyes go to Riley, “and people wouldn’t be focused on you or your career. They’d be focused on that.”

                “Your actual career,” Bradley, “would actually be over before it began. It would be focused on something that isn’t at all your talent, but just a personal preference. And that would soon fall through the cracks.”

                “Drama,” Riley, “is only so entertaining for some time. Real and true talent gets you all the way. It gets you situated.”

                “You need to establish your name out there, kid, before you establish anything else.”

                They share a look, and Harry’s head hurts and it’s spinning. There’s chaos inside of him, waves dragging him and pulling him underneath waters he doesn’t want to tread. He tries to breathe.

                “So,” he voice croaks in just one word and he clears his throat immediately, nails digging into his thighs, “so,” he starts again. “How long are we talking about in terms of me establishing myself?”

                They share another look and Harry wishes they’d just stop doing that.

                “About ten years, or so. Maybe. Depends kid,” Bradley replies. And it hits him so hard, he feels struck by lightning. _Ten years_. Harry never thought he and Louis would work out, but he never imagined he had been so right all along.

                “The real issue is you would have to do a lot of convincing because people are already talking among the league,” Harry doesn’t know which news is worse and he doesn’t know if anything gets better. He barely feels like himself as he sits in a chair and watches people discuss his future right before him. His personal likes. His life. It’s all so much and not enough. That’s what his whole life feels like. A constant game of pull and push but there’s always more pulling than pushing.

                “And it’s gonna have to consistent, kid. And really good. Just enough so people stop questioning it, get focused back on your game. The good news is, you’re so good and everything has just started to seed, that if we signed you up now, the damage would be repaired before it truly began,” Bradley smiles and Harry can’t even bring himself to return it. Instead he just sits there, letting each and every word sink in. The consequences of their proposal building in his mind.

                It’s quiet for a second or two, before Harry hears Bradley’s chair scrape on the floor.

                “Think about it, kid, yeah? And then you can give Riley a call,” he nods his chin her way. “For the meantime, I’m going to get some lunch. Pleasure seeing you, Mr. Styles,” he reaches down to shake Harry’s hand, and Harry gives him his own so absent mindedly it almost feels like Harry’s watching someone else do it. It’s not actually him, just his body, his soul floating somewhere else.

                He exists without another word, and Harry tries to snap out of it when he hears the door shut. He looks at Bradley, looking through her manila folder for a business card. He sighs, pushing his hair back a bit and tugging at it at the end. It just fucking sucks. Everything sucks. And he always knew it would, always understood what the life he wanted demanded of him. But he never understood the gravity of it, or how some pesky rumors caused by some University jerk offs could have such an influence on him through the NFL’s eyes already. It meant the situation was delicate, and neither Bradley nor Riley had lied when they said there would be a lot he’d have to do, even if behind the scenes, to maintain the image he wanted to create for him. He tries not to think of Louis, knowing that if he does, if his mind wanders too far, he’ll break right there. All over again.

                “Mr. Styles,” Riley calls for him, and Harry shakes his head and tries to come back as he takes the business card she’s handing him from her hand.

                He looks down at the card, twirling it around his fingers. He’s trying to keep his mind with him but it’s never been so hard.

                “Would it be worth it?” he asks out loud, and he doesn’t know what makes him do that. But once it’s out, it’s out and Harry doesn’t think about taking it back. Instead he looks up at her, where she seems ready to get going. She pauses, and then sighs. Harry already knows he’s not going to get a simple answer, an answer that could easily be decided for him.

                “If this is what you love, then yes. But it has to be the only thing you love. It has to be the thing you love the most in the world,” she says earnestly, her eyes soft as she looks at Harry, “if it isn’t, if there’s something or—someone else, then no. I’ve seen it tear apart men like you, Harry. And then, it’s not worth it.”

                _Men like you._

                Harry wonders how many men are like him exactly. And he wonders if they regret it. Signing onto this, getting drafted and then getting to play the sport they probably wanted to their entire lives. Only to keep hiding something about them they can’t control, they don’t even want to change. He wonders, but he doesn’t ask her. He just nods.

                She stands up, grabbing papers from the table and looking at him one last time, “best of luck to you, Harry.  I hope to hear from you.”

                Harry nods at that too, trying to give a bit of a lop sided grin to her before she turns to walk away. He’s not sure whether it works, but he knows it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matter are the decisions he has laid down in front of him. He thinks about everything. In the silence of the room alone, he thinks about everything that has happened to lead him up this point. He thinks about everything they discussed, everything that’s at stake. At the end, his mind makes a roundabout to the one thing he can never escape for too long.

                _If there’s something—or someone else_

                He stands up from his chair, dialing his phone rapidly to ask Niall to come and get him to go back to campus.

                _Louis._

\--

 

                “Out of a ten,” David breathes next to him, a bit of space in between them as they lay down on their backs. Naked and on Louis’ bed, a thin layer of sweat covering their bodies. “How good was I?”

                Louis rolls his eyes but scoffs out a laugh either way, “seriously?”

                “Yes, really,” David says, moving a bit further away from Louis to get a good look at him. “Performance matters, Louis.”

                Louis keeps staring at the ceiling, a small smile on his face as he thinks of David’s words. Surprisingly, David is excellent in bed. He fucks rough, and hard, and fast, and he makes sure it’s exciting. He really likes dirty talk, and somehow, with the tone of his voice, Louis finds he actually gets off on it. But Louis knows he’s had better. If only just by one person. But there’s still that one person above him, that one person that to everyone but Louis, doesn’t exist.

                Louis hums, “it’s not everything though.”

                He feels the bed dip, and then David is on top of him, pinning him down to the bed with his body. Louis squirms and giggles when David attacks his neck with his mouth, nuzzling it to the point where it tickles.

                “Don’t make me teach you a lesson, Louis,” his breath is hot against Louis’ ears and Louis makes to scratch down David back with the bit of claws he has.

                “Oh, yeah?” he challenges, and just when Louis thinks David’s about to start something again, there’s a knock on Louis’ door.

                David grunts and flops down on Louis, not even trying to hold up his own weight. Louis feels his weight crushing.

                “David,” he says, trying to push at him to get off.

                “Can’t you just tell them to go away?” he pleads, sounding the most whiny he’s ever heard him. He knows David has wanted to fuck Louis in over the year that they’ve been—whatever they are. But he didn’t think he would have David begging for him so quickly and only after the first time. It doesn’t feel bad though, actual. It feels nice to be wanted for the way he is, in the way he is. It’s something his missed, something he sometimes feels like he never had. He tries to push it to the back of his mind as he tries to push David off of him one more time. It actually works, and David flops onto his back beside Louis.

                “Not when it’s pretty much my job to be there for broken hearted or panic induced freshmen.”

                He climbs out of bed easily, grabbing for the first boxers and pants he sees on the floor. He thinks he ends up putting on David’s boxers and he’s laughing as he stumbles to put on his pair of skinny jeans. David rolls his eyes at Louis, small smile playing on his lips as he rubs an absent hand up and down his tummy. Louis reaches for any shirt easily in his drawer, puts it over his head while David says, “try and make it fast.”

                Louis fixes him with a look and a pointed finger, “easy there, tiger.”

                David snorts and Louis backs his way up into his living area. He closes the door softly, in case he gets a very distressed kid barging into his room as soon as he opens the door. Not that it’s any secret that Louis and David are kind of a thing. He’s sure most people on campus have been suspecting of them doing exactly what they just did many times before. But whatever. Louis kind of wants to keep his private life private for a bit.

                He mats down his hair, making sure there’s no crazy sex hair going on and pats down his shirt before opening the door. He feels all the color drain from his face when he sees Harry standing there, body leaned against his doorway and so, so close to Louis. Immediately, Louis shuts the door behind him, his chest touching Harry’s chest with the bit of space left between them.

                Harry quirks an eyebrow, and Louis kind of looks away a bit. Harry takes a step back easily, coughing into his fist and murmuring an apology. Louis tries to remember how the hell he’s supposed to breathe. It’s been weeks since Harry’s birthday party—the last time they talked. He’s been doing better. He’s been really trying. Louis spends his days in ballet, losing himself in it the way he used to. And when he gets lonely, when the black hole inside him starts to invade every bit of space Louis still has untouched by Harry, he spends time with David. It’s been better. Not good. Not what he ever wanted. But it’s been better. He doesn’t understand how it always ends up like this, though. Louis can think he’s growing stronger, finally learning to just it go. But then Harry shows up at his door, and he’s just all too there, and everything rushes at Louis at once. It makes his head spin in circles as he looks up at Harry, eyes he’s missed every night.

                “You okay?” Louis asks carefully, his voice a bit rough. He tries to clear it, and then concentrate on trying to read Harry. He doesn’t think things could possibly be okay if he’s showing up at his door. That’s not the way it works. Harry has abided by Louis’ wish like he always has. So, if he’s breaking that, there’s a good reason for it.

                “Not really,” Harry replies, looking around for a second and taking a deep breath, “I’d rather talk about it inside though. If that’s okay.”

                It’s not okay, and Louis feels a bit anxious as he thinks about telling Harry that. It’s not like Harry can say anything to him. He can’t. They agreed on that the night of Harry’s birthday. But it still feels—Louis knows it’s still going to matter. And standing in front of Harry like this, not letting him inside his dorm because of David, It feels so fucking wrong.

                Louis doesn’t look at him, can’t meet his eye. Instead he tucks his hands in the jeans of his pockets, looks down the empty hallway. “It’s not.”

                He thinks the longer he prolongs actually having to explain the better it will be. But it’s not exactly like that.

                “Louis, please,” Harry’s voice rings in Louis’ ear, “I know we said—look, I know I’m not supposed to be here. But you also said you’d always be there for me. I need you to be here for me right now. This is important.”

                Louis shuts his eyes. He feels like crying. In just a matter of minutes all the progress Louis’ made in the last couple of weeks is washed away by the sound of Harry’s voice, by the look of hopelessness on Harry’s face. He’s reaching out to Louis, and Louis wants to grab hold of his hand, but he feels like he’s really finally lost that privilege. And it’s absurd—it’s so absurd. He shouldn’t feel guilty for having sex with David, for trying to build something with David he never could have with Harry. No matter how easier it felt with him, it wasn’t going to happen. But he does. He knows he does. Feels it in every inch of his skin.

                “David’s in there,” Louis says quickly, like maybe the words won’t burn them if he gets it out fast enough.

                At first, Harry looks confused. And then his eyes widen, and his gaze flicks to somewhere on Louis’ neck. Louis knows what it is immediately. He brings a hand up to cover it, as if maybe that way they could pretend Harry never saw it.

                Harry takes a deep breath as he closes his eyes. Louis thinks this is it. It’s the moment he sees Harry Styles walk away from him for the last time. But when Harry opens his eyes to look at Louis one more time, his feet aren’t moving.

                “Just call me when you have time, okay? It’s important.”

                Louis feels a bit shocked, and he wants to grab onto Harry’s wrist as he turns to go but he doesn’t. He lets him go. He thinks maybe it’s better that way for now. And also because it won’t be the last time if Harry’s asking him to call him. He stands there by his own for a few, until he decides to go inside. He’s out of when he joins David back in bed, and in only of couple of minutes of laying down, he tells David he thinks he should go. Harry Styles always wins.

               

\--

 

                Harry tries not to think about it as they sit in their old spots—the ones they established as theirs only after the first time Harry came to talk to Louis. Unbeknownst to him that it would be Louis. It would be a lie to say that Harry didn’t know what would happen after he did figure it out it was Louis. He knew. He went. He burned.

                He tries not to think about where they could’ve fucked. How they could’ve fucked. That David, fucking David, was able to mark Louis in the ways that Harry never could. He tries not to let it eat him alive, tries not to let the fire burn through his rationale. Because if it did, David would be a dead man. And he knows that’s not fair. It’s not even fair to be mad at Louis. Harry chose this. He pushed Louis out of his life and into David’s arms. It’s his own doing. Which is why he tries to suppress that as he sits across from Louis, fingers playing with the rings along his knuckles.

                “I got an offer a couple of days back for an agency looking to help me get drafted into the NFL,” Harry says in the quietness of the room. He hears Louis shuffle, but he doesn’t look at him. “They even think they can get me into the Packers. Dream come, huh?”

                That’s when he finally looks at Louis. Louis looks shy looking back at him, and it doesn’t feel anything like them. He nods, then says, “Harry, that’s amazing. I’m—”

                Harry interrupts, “I’m not finished.” Louis snaps his mouth shut instantly, looking so small curled in on himself, knees up to his chest as he looks at Harry through long lashes. Harry knows he’s being cruel. And he shouldn’t be. But he’s so angry. He’s so fed up. So much pull and never enough push, and everything is just a mess everywhere he goes. He wishes everything could just lead up to a happy ending like it always does in movies, and books. Where nothing has to be sacrificed for another and every wish comes true. But the reality of all that just being one big fantasy, has Harry so tired.

                He sucks in a breath through his mouth, releases it through his nostrils. He flexes his arm a bit, opening and closing it to a steady bit. “I’m sure you’ve heard people are talking about me. And so have they. Some of those guys have never seen me play, but they think they already have an idea on who I want to take to bed with me,” he shakes his head, anger rising inside him at an uncontrollable speed, “and it matters. It matters so fucking much. Ten years, Louis. Ten years they think it’ll take me to even think about coming out.”

                He looks at Louis, who looks helpless in the corner of his couch closed in on himself. And he knows that’s all it’s ever been, they have ever been. Helpless. But fuck it all if he doesn’t want someone to just save him already.

                “It’s a tough road,” his phone is rough as he continues, “they made that pretty clear. But like, I don’t know. Maybe I could do it. Maybe I could do it if I didn’t have you.”

                They look at each other, and Harry feels the crash of waves when Louis’ blue looks at him so fiercely.

                “What?”

                “She told me, the woman from the agency, that if I had anything that I loved more than football, not to sign. And you know, the answer was already in my head before I recognized it. And it was you, Louis,” he feels his body shake with emotion, “it’s always been you.”

                He holds his head in his hands, feels the tears swelling behind his eyelids. He wishes he could be stronger. For Louis, or for himself. He just wishes he could be strong enough to make the decision for his own life already. He hasn’t done that this whole time. He’s tried to outsmart his own destiny, by swerving and hiding and going too slow when he needed to be going fast. But he can’t keep out running the inevitable.  

                “Hey,” Louis reaches for his hands softly, pushing them away from Harry to hold in his own. Harry’s crying already, and when he looks at Louis, he sees that there are tears in his eyes as well. “Listen, Harry. I—you know how I feel about you. And really, I know how you feel about me. But I can’t let you throw away football for me.”

                At that, Harry gives Louis a puzzled look. Not that he ever thought Louis was making him decide between him and football, but he has to know that now it has to be a decision. And if Louis is not asking Harry to give up football, he’s asking him to give up Louis.

                “I thought that’s what you would want,” Harry whispers, eyes switching from one of Louis’ to the other.

                Louis smiles sadly at him, “I want you. I—I probably always will, if I’m honest. But I can’t let you just destroy your whole future, the only reason you even came here for me.”

                “But what if I want to?” Harry pleads, his heart breaking with every second that passes by. Louis rubs his thumb along the back of Harry’s knuckles, and Harry wishes he would stop touching him gently if this is the last time they’re going to touch.

                “You don’t,” Louis shakes his head, “you’ll resent me in the future If you just gave up football for me.”

                Harry feels too heavy, limbs under the weight of a world he was never told he would have told hold on his own shoulders.

                “So, what? You want me to go on to the NFL, hide a big part of myself for ten years? Maybe more?”

                Louis shakes his head again. He’s so calm, and all Harry can feel inside him a storm with no end. “No,” he says honestly, “I want you to decide it for yourself, though. If you give this is up, it has to be for you. It can’t be for me, or even any other guy. It has to be for your own happiness.”

                Harry can’t help it. He lets the sobs just pour of him. He’s a mess and he knows it. But Louis comes easily when Harry pulls him onto his lap, cries in the space between Louis neck and shoulder, and just stays there. Louis passes fingers through Harry’s hair in comfort, and he intertwines their hands with his free hand. They stay like that for what feels like a long time, until Harry’s tears just stop coming and his breaths even out. He backs away a bit, wiping his face the sleeves of his shirt. Louis doesn’t let go of his hand, and his fingers stay stuck somewhere in Harry’s hair.

                Harry looks up at him, and Louis look down, and he knows that the bit he’d have to move to close the gap between their mouths isn’t much of one at all. But he doesn’t do it. There’s no reason to bring more misery to either of them.

                “I’m so sorry,” Harry whispers to him.

                Louis presses a kiss to his forehead. It’s with light pressure and Harry’s eyelashes flutter closed at the feeling.

                “It’s okay,” he whispers back.

                There’s a beat, and then, “do you wanna hear some good news?”

                Harry nods, his eyes still closed, still trying memorize every bit of Louis just by the feel of him. He thinks he’s already got that down.

                “I got a call back audition.”

                At that Harry has to open his eyes, a genuine smile spreading across his face. When he looks up at Louis, Louis looks a bit lost in him. Harry thinks he understands exactly what that’s like.

                “I’m not surprised. Sooner or later, everyone understands your brilliance,” he says honestly. He never doubted Louis would end up getting a call back. He was there for that audition. He saw it happen, saw the way Louis reinvents himself when he dances. It’s beautiful, and it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world saw it too.

                “Thank you,” Louis says shyly.

                Harry kisses his cheek, closes thing he’ll have for a long time. He doesn’t think about how David will have more. “When’s the audition?”

                “End of the week,” Louis says, scratching a bit at Harry’s scalp. And then they kind of just sit there like that. There’s not much more that needs to be said, Harry knows that. He knows that once he goes, it won’t be like he’s leaving empty. He’ll go full. Filled with Louis, filled with their memories. There won’t be a thing missing, except for Louis himself. And that’s just one thing he has to let go of. But he stays there anyways, even if it’s just because. Sometimes things don’t need a reason. They just are.

 

\--

                “I’m sorry to hear that, Harry,” Riley says on the other line. She doesn’t sound sorry at all. He can’t blame her. He’s not even sorry himself.

                “Thank you,” is what he says before he hangs up.

 

\--

                He barges into the dance studio to find it empty. Rachel is the only one left, standing all the way at the far end of the room packing up her bags to go. At least he’s caught her.

                “Rachel,” he says, catching his breath a bit. She turns suddenly, not as surprised to see him as he would’ve thought.

                She smirks, “very nice of you to stop, Mr. Styles,” there’s a tone to her voice that suggest she already knows what he’s doing there. He wonders how many people have already figured it out. He knows it doesn’t even matter anymore. He wants to yell it over rooftops. “What can I do you for?”

                “Louis’ audition. It’s today,” he states, and she looks at him with her eyebrows raised and a knowing look in her eyes. She nods. “I was—I wanted to catch him here, but he’s already left. And I don’t have a ride, I was hoping maybe you could—”

                “Take you?” she finishes for him, looking too smug for Harry’s comfort. Beggars can’t be choosers. He nods slightly, clutching the dozen roses to his chest to keep his heart from falling out of it. He’s in much more shape than he feels right then. He’s just nervous.

                “Why,” she takes a step towards him, “took you long enough.”

                He doesn’t ask her how she knew, or the moment she figured it out. Instead he thinks that anyone who was even paying attention could tell. It was probably written all over his face the way Harry has it written all over his soul. He loves Louis Tomlinson. He can’t even remember why he ever tried to hide that. It wasn’t the kind of thing that hid easily.

                They don’t waste much time after that. They get into her car quick enough, both of them jogging to it. Rachel is a bit of a reckless driver, Harry comes to find. He clutches onto his roses for dear life, afraid they might fall apart through all the sharp turns, over the speed limit driving, and sudden break stops. But they make it there on time. And that’s really all Harry can be grateful for. He sprints out of the car as soon as it comes to a stop. He’s not entirely sure where he’s going. He tries to remember for the last time he was around. But it was so many months back, Harry has to stop and ask a few of the dancers if they’ve heard of and know where Louis Tomlinson is. After a few wrong lefts, Harry’s movements comes to a stop when he hears a voice say, “Harry Styles?” And then he sees it’s Macy and right next to her, is the only reason he’s here.

                He’s wearing something different than his first audition, and he still looks just as, if not more beautiful. But Harry pays close attention to his eyes, and the way they dance all around Harry. They go from Harry’s eyes, to his body, to the roses in his hands, and then he’s blinking. He has to be wondering, wondering what the hell Harry is doing showing up for him. What he’s doing here. And Harry doesn’t intend to let Louis wonder for another second.

                “I love you,” he says, and he sees Louis’ eyes widen in surprise. He hears Macy gasp and a shuffle of feet as people start to gather behind him, watching whatever is going on. He doesn’t pay attention to their company. For the first time, and they way it should’ve been everytime, it doesn’t matter to him that people can see them. He wants them to. But most of all he wants to see Louis. So, he keeps his focus there. Ignores the outside world as if it wasn’t there with them. “I knew I’d love you the moment I met you.  That’s why I was so reluctant to start anything with you, Louis. Because I knew you would change me, you would make me see things in a light that I was too scared to see myself,” he takes a step forward, watches the way Louis’ chest falls and rises with every step he takes towards him, “but I’m glad I met you. I’m glad I fell in love with you and I am so lucky that you fell in love with me. And I’m sorry, that I tried to hide a love so pure from everyone else. I’m sorry that I stood back and let the world’s fucked up mentality eat us to bits,” he smiles, shaking his head and he remembers everything they’ve been through.

                “I was wrong back then. I know I had my reasons, but they were stupid reasons. Because nothing, _nothing_ , has ever made me feel the way you do, Louis,” he hears girls in the back awe, but he keeps his eyes on Louis, who stands still. Just watching Harry, like he’s still trying to decide whether everything that’s happening is real, or just a figment of his imagination.

“You told me yesterday to make a decision for myself, for my own happiness. Louis, you _are_ my happiness. I’m not choosing between you and football, or you and my future. You are my future. And you are my happiness. If I have to choose between throwing a ball around for the rest of my life or being happy, I definitely choose the latter.”

                He sees the way Louis fakes breaks into a grin, and he ducks his head to shy away from Harry’s words. Harry takes one more step and then he’s right in front of him, using his finger to tilt Louis’ chin up to look at him. Louis does easily, and in that moment Harry’s breath feels lost.

                “I know I didn’t really believe it myself before, but I think I meant it when I said we were permanent. I just didn’t know it,” he feels Louis suck in a breath and he continues, “but I do now. I know we’re permanent. We’re a forever kind of thing.”

                Louis closes his eyes for a second, leaning into Harry’s touch. When he opens them, it’s with a soft voice that he asks, “forever?”

                It doesn’t even take Harry a second to answer. “Yes.”

                Louis laughs a bit breathlessly, and then he’s pointing to the roses in Harry’s hands, “are those for me?”

                Harry grins like the sun is blinding him. Maybe it is. Maybe Louis is his sun.

                “Yeah, baby,” he replies, letting go of Louis chin to bring a hand around his waist, “they are.”

                “Kiss me,” Louis whispers and Harry answers by doing so, telling him exactly the one thing Louis always wanted to hear.

                The girls erupt into loud claps as Louis and Harry kiss for what feels like ages. Something Harry’s missed, something Harry never wants to let go of again. And Harry feels like he’s under again. He’s lost in an ocean vast and wide and just for him. In the bottom, he sinks, and he finds that he’s not actually all alone. The water whispers things to him he’s known all along and the current brings him peace. He’s not alone because he has Louis. And as he holds Louis close to him, Louis’ arms wrapped around his neck and mouth slotting against his own, he doesn’t actually know what the waves will bring them. He doesn’t know whether his future in football is over, whether he’ll have to decide an entirely different career path or whether he’ll still have a chance at playing. He doesn’t know if Louis will make it past this audition, if he’ll ever feel one hundred percent confident in his body, if they’ll be okay for the rest of the year, the rest of their lives spent together. He doesn’t know how people back on campus will react to them. He doesn’t know what they’ll have to endure. He doesn’t really think he cares.  They’ve got endless time to figure it out. All Harry knows is that he’s ready to take on whatever with Louis, go through it all as long as he has this beautiful boy tucked under his hand, holding onto his heart.  That’s all he cares about. And though he’s got nothing figured out, he knows things are going to be fine when Louis pulls back and says against his lips, eyes bluer than anything Harry’s ever seen, “I love you.”

                Yeah. They’re going to be just fine.

 


End file.
